


Basic Wants

by Dinkel



Series: Basic [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Mpreg, Past Child Abuse, Postpartum Depression, Rape Recovery, Slash, Werewolf Culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-11 22:20:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 55
Words: 252,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3334868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dinkel/pseuds/Dinkel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to <i>Basic Needs</i>, which starts where that left off: in Azkaban. But the world is changing rapidly, Voldemort is ready to make his final move, the Ministry and the Order are desperate, Harry had about enough and Fenrir really doesn't like his attitude.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Predictability

**Author's Note:**

> And here's the sequel to Basic Needs and as you can probably guess this is also a repost of an older story. Enjoy!

So much for their plan. Nothing had worked out as planned. Absolutely nothing. Less than nothing if you considered how their dream of an easy escape and a happy life with Fenrir’s pack had backfired. Harry had not returned the next night, nor the night after, nor, in fact, for more than a week. Fenrir had been irritated, furious and worried to the bone. It wasn’t like Harry. Harry wouldn’t avoid him; Harry wouldn’t break his word; Harry wouldn’t chicken out. Harry hadn’t. Those wizards had prevented him from coming with their incessant need for control, their fixation on having their way that they totally blocked out how illogical torturing Harry was. But they did, sometimes until deep into the night, into the next morning, through the next day and into the next night. They took turns; Harry had to hold out alone. _Bastards!_

And then the full moon had come. Fenrir had all but forgotten about it in his worry for his little white wolf. His own problems were meaningless faced with the hard reality of what Harry was going through. Was he being tortured right now? With curses? With weapons? With words? Or were the guards and Ministry officials taking a break, drinking a coffee, commenting on the weather, asking about wives and kids, while Harry lay bleeding on the cold stone floor, writhing in pain?

His transformation had taken him by surprise, and for one foolish moment he had resisted. Being a wolf seemed like an easy escape from his troublesome worries, and he didn’t want it if he couldn’t share it with Harry. It had been futile. His wolf had taken over despite his protests, growling and snarling in annoyance, before jogging along the walls, looking for a way out - looking for Harry. But Harry couldn’t come. Harry was clinging to his life, Harry was dying. The smell of pain and blood had lain heavy in the air, heavier than usual, as it had for days now. Harry would give in soon or he would die. The werewolf had howled angrily.

A weak yip had answered him. Fenrir’s ears had perked. Another yip, a whimper, the scrapping of claws on stone. Slowly, painfully, a small white wolf had crawled into his cell, dragging one leg behind. The white fur had been coated with blood, the eyes dull with pain and fatigue, and the pink tongue had lolled out of his mouth as he had gasped for breath.

Fenrir had gently nudged his cub, feeling every protective instinct rushing to the forefront as Harry didn’t react. _No, Harry couldn’t die now!_ Harry had come to him, and bloody hell, he would not let him die! So he had carefully taken Harry by the scruff of his neck and carried him over to the straw. He had licked his wounds, tugged the blanket over him and had lain close to protect the cub’s shivering body from the biting cold that accompanied winters in Azkaban. Harry had drifted in and out of consciousness, and when Fenrir had thought he was doing better, he had tried to convince Harry to leave the cell, change back into human form and heal himself, but whether it was that Harry was too weak or too stubborn, Harry merely growled tiredly at him and had stayed always close to him, always in his cell. And he had got weaker and weaker.

The full moon had sent one last ray of pale, silver light into Fenrir’s cell, before it had released him from his spell. His body had convulsed and shivered and changed back into human, and the beast had receded completely from his mind.

The white little wolf with the black marking around ears and eyes, had whimpered tiredly as Fenrir tenderly caressed his soft coat, begging him with gentle words to change back as well. Harry’s body had shuddered before he painfully shifted forms, his white fur giving way to sickly pale skin and painful wounds. Fenrir had had to swallow hard as he had seen Harry so weak and felt the heat that radiated off of him. So much for their plan. It didn’t look like they would escape after all.

Harry had lost too much blood and had developed a fever. His wounds were deep and numerous; some had become infected, others had been cursed to prevent healing; Harry’s right leg looked to be broken. Fenrir tore the blankets into stripes and tried to bandage the most serious wounds and then spread his own overall over the tiny body. He lay down next to Harry, trying to provide him with enough warmth to stave off his fever. Harry whimpered, but didn’t regain consciousness for a long time.

“Fen?” Harry groaned softly. “Sorry, I didn’t come to open the door.”

“Shh, my little one, who cares? You’ll concentrate on getting better. We’ll escape later. Just get better.” He sounded desperate, he knew, but seeing Harry like this was getting to him.

“I could try, if you carried me over to the door. So you can escape, find your pack and tell Remus that I love him,” Harry whispered, shifting as if to sit up, but then hissed in pain.

“You stupid, stupid thing!” Fenrir had to resist the urge to shake some sense into the other prisoner. “If you have any magic left to spare, you’ll use every last bit of it to heal yourself. I don’t care about the door. I care about you not dying on me. And I won’t play messenger boy, you can tell Lupin everything you want to tell him yourself when you see him. Don’t fucking talk as if you’re dying.”

“I am dying-”

“No, you’re not! You’re not in the best of shapes, I admit that, but you’re not dying!” Fenrir was shouting now and he suspected that this wasn’t helping Harry, but he couldn’t stop himself. “I won’t allow it.”

“Death doesn’t need your permission.” Harry coughed, a gurgling sound, as if his lungs were full of water - or blood. “I’m okay with it, Fen... I’ve no place in... this new world, anyway. I... I’m... glad... I got... to... know...”

Harry’s sentence ended in a wheeze.

“You’ll always have a place with me, always, Harry,” Fenrir murmured, thinking that Harry had lost consciousness again and all the more surprised when he heard Harry’s weak voice again.

“He’s coming. Voldemort’s coming, Fen. The new world has beg...”

Fenrir pressed a kiss to Harry’s sweaty brow, but the younger man had passed out for good this time.

A loud, crashing noise rend the air, waking the other prisoners, who started clamouring and rummaging in their cells, and fast foot falls and loud voices came closer to them.

“Open the cells, free the prisoners, kill the guards,” a magically enhanced voice echoed through the halls as black-robed figures moved swiftly through them.

When his own cell door slid open almost smoothly, Fenrir withdrew deeper into the shadows, hiding Harry between his body and the wall. People walked past his cell, some with measured steps and others, the prisoners, hurriedly and eagerly.

“My Lord,” someone called, sounding nervous. “Potter isn’t in his cell. It looks like he was tortured, though.”

“I know that, idiot,” a sibilant voice snapped in response. “Go find him. You are not leaving before you can tell me where he is.”

“Yes, my Lord,” the Death Eater replied dutifully. “I’ll bring him here.”

“No, idiot. You are not to touch the boy, just tell me where he is,” Voldemort hissed. “And where are those stupid werewolves, anyway?”

“My Lord,” another Death Eater spoke up. “You gave them the task to make sure no one gets away from here without your permission.”

“Get me one here. Lupin, preferably. Let him find his godson,” Voldemort ordered, and the second Death Eater scurried away as well.

Fenrir listened closely for Voldemort’s step, trying to determine if he could get past him somehow, but instead of dying away his steps seemed to get closer. Harry whimpered, inaudible to all but werewolf ears.

“He can feel me,” Harry’s voice sounded faint, as if he was already far away, in another world, no longer belonging to the world of the living. “Don’t die for me. I made my peace.”

The silver-haired man wordlessly tucked the coveralls more tightly around Harry’s shivering form, before getting up fluidly. He hid in the shadows as Voldemort came steadily closer, finally coming to a stop in front of their cell. He turned his ghostly white face towards the small human bundle on the floor. Fenrir, still in the shadows, could see his red eyes glimmering dangerously and maliciously in the dim light of the approaching day. He prepared to attack, crouching down to jump - a beam of light shot towards him, immobilising him.

“So, so, Harry Potter, have you found yourself a little bodyguard? So afraid of me?” He glided towards Harry, vanishing the blanket that covered him. “Do you have my answer?”

“I...” Harry was interrupted by violent coughs that wracked his tiny body and sprinkled his hand with drops of blood. “Tired.”

“You are hurt,” Voldemort sounded truly surprised, and his hands were almost gentle, though not quite, as he made Harry uncurl so that he could see where the problem was.

“I...” Harry tried to speak again, but the Dark Lord shushed him, while bandaging Harry’s wounds by magic. “Don’t speak now, Potter. I can wait for my answer a bit longer. You are no use to me dead.”

“No use to you at all,” Harry whispered defiantly. “I’m sick of fighting. I’ll be no one’s weapon anymore.”

“Then you won’t fight,” Voldemort murmured with finality. “Now shut up. I need to concentrate. I haven’t healed anyone recently.”

Fenrir growled warningly, briefly drawing the attention of the Dark Lord. “If you hurt him-”

“Being silent goes for you, too, wolf,” Voldemort hissed, sending him a red-eyed glare, before turning back to Harry, who had fallen unconscious again.

He swished his wand before holding it steadily over Harry’s stomach. A soft golden glow emitted from it. Finally, it stopped and Voldemort pocketed his wand, making to scoop Harry up.

“Don’t you dare touch him,” Fenrir growled, earning himself another annoyed glare.

“And how do you suppose I get him out of here without doing so? He needs to see a Healer. I have no time for your sentimentality.”

“I’ll take him,” Fenrir stated, struggling against the Dark Lord’s magic. “You can’t leave me here anyway. My pack is waiting for me.”

“Stupid pack loyalty,” Voldemort sounded irritated, but dismissively waved his wand, freeing the werewolf, who immediately pushed up from the floor and hastened to Harry’s side, tenderly gathering him in his arms.

“Well, then get going. I don’t have all day,” Voldemort bid him go first, motioning with wand. The werewolf was much too worried about his hurt cub to start another argument.

ö_ö_ö

Harry groaned softly, rolling around and wincing as pain shot through his stomach and his right leg.

“Don’t move yet, cub,” a soft voice admonished him. “Or you’ll aggravate your injuries.”

“Remus!” Harry exclaimed, sitting up despite the warning and ignoring the consequent pain. “Remus!”

“I’m here, cub.” The werewolf smiled gently at him, pulling the young man into a careful embrace. “And I’m not going anywhere. You should rest, I’ll still be here when you wake up, I promise.”

“As will I,” another, deeper voice added, and Fenrir moved into Harry’s line of vision.

“Fen!” Harry smiled at him, grasping his hand when the silver-haired werewolf sat down on his bed. “What happened? Where am I? Are you two okay? Where’s your pack? Why am I hurt? Where did your beard disappear to?”

“One question at a time, Harry.” Remus smiled his gentle smile again, slowly carding his fingers through Harry’s hair. “You’re here because you were tortured in Azkaban and almost died. Voldemort stormed Azkaban and freed you and Fenrir. We are now at his Headquarters, as is the rest of the pack. And I think I speak for both of us if I say we’re very relieved you finally woke up. You’ve been unconscious for over a week.”

“And as for my beard, I shaved,” Fenrir added. “I’d like to kiss you without it getting in the way.”

“Fen! This isn’t the time for that sort of conversation.” Harry glanced nervously at the brown-haired werewolf.

“Don’t worry, cub, I already know and I’m happy for you.”

“You know what exactly?” Harry asked suspiciously, and Fenrir growled.

“I know you’ve comforted and protected each other in that place,” Remus said appeasingly. “And I’m happy for you. I’m just happy to have you back, cub.”

Harry snorted. “That’s one way to put it.”

“How would you have put it?” Fenrir asked with a touch of anger in his voice.

“We had sex because you were confused, and I didn’t think I would live long enough to have sex with anyone else.” Harry shrugged, biting his lip when pain raced through his body. “Though, I guess mutual comfort and protection sounds less naughty.”

“I’m not confused!”

“Then you’re desperate!” Harry interrupted him firmly. “Either way you aren’t thinking clearly and making choices you wouldn’t make if the circumstances were different.”

“The circumstances **are** different, and I’m still making the same choice,” Fenrir retorted, resisting the urge to force Harry into submission; the cub was hurt.

“Maybe they’re different for **you** ,” Harry retorted. “I’m still being held prisoner. The Ministry or Voldemort, I fail to see the difference anymore.”

“We are no prisoners, Harry,” Remus spoke up, putting a calming hand on Fenrir’s forearm. “We’re free to go at any time. The war’s over, the Dark has won.”

“I doubt that will stop Voldemort from killing me or at least keeping me prisoner for the rest of my miserable life,” Harry murmured lowly, as if he wasn’t sure he should have said it. “And a world ruled by Voldemort is not something I ever wanted to see.”

Remus sighed, pressing a kiss to Harry’s forehead before he got up. “Rest, little one. I’ll see if I can find Voldemort so that he can tell you yourself that he won’t kill you.”

“No!” Harry latched onto his hand, a wild, fearful look in his eyes. “Don’t leave me! You can’t leave me again!”

Remus sank back on his chair, giving Harry’s hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m not leaving you, Harry. Don’t worry. I love you, cub, I won’t leave you, I just thought you would feel better if you got the information first-hand.”

“I don’t care about that,” Harry whispered. “But don’t leave me alone.”

“You should care, Harry,” Fenrir growled deeply. “You should care if you were going to die. I’m going to find Voldemort so you can get over this melodramatic, depressed, life-weary attitude and start living again.”

Harry glared at him. “I’m neither of those things, and if my view on things bothers you, you can get lost, I don’t mind.”

Fenrir took a menacing step towards Harry, his teeth bared aggressively, before he abruptly spun around and left the room.

Remus looked at Harry pensively for a moment. “Fenrir is a honourable man, Harry. He’s a good Alpha and I won’t deny that it feels good to be part of a pack once more, but you’re my cub first, and you’ll never be forced to be more to him than the cub of one of his pack members.”

Harry blushed, turning his face away.

“But I wouldn’t mind at all if you wanted to be more,” Remus offered cautiously. “And Fenrir wouldn’t mind, either. He has barely left your side while you were unconscious. It wasn’t merely meaningless sex for him.”

Harry stayed silent, leaning into Remus.

“I doubt it was for you, Harry.”

“Can we change the subject now?” Harry demanded. “I’m still recovering. Such life-changing conversations aren’t beneficial to my health.”

Remus gave him a wry smile and then pressed a loving kiss to Harry’s temple. “Of course, cub.”

They fell silent for a while, and Harry snuggled into the werewolf, breathing his familiar scent and feeling his familiar warmth.

“I do like him,” Harry whispered. “It meant something, to both of us.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Remus said. “But why did you just deny it?”

“Because he’s smug enough without knowing it.” Harry grinned cheekily, and Remus chuckled. “He’s so... annoying. He’s always ordering me around, telling me what to do and even what to think-”

“Harry, he’s an Alpha through and through,” Remus told him. “It’s in his nature to be dominating and controlling. I fear, not even you will be able to cure him of that attitude.”

Unnoticed to Harry, Fenrir had returned with the Dark Lord and stood at the door, listening in on the last part of their conversation. “That depends on what I’d get in return.”

Harry twisted around to stare at him, grimacing in pain and pressing a hand to his stomach were the pain radiated from.

“Don’t move, cub,” Fenrir ordered sternly, glancing at Remus and sending him off the bed with a look, and took his place, pulling Harry into his lap.

“Stop it or I’m going to hex you!” Harry hissed at him, but didn’t protest when Fenrir rearranged the blanket around him.

“You aren’t to use magic for at least a couple of days yet,” Voldemort spoke up, stepping further into the room.

He didn’t look all that menacing, Harry thought. His skin was still deathly pale and his eyes still crimson in colour, but he had regained at least some human features, though his nose was still rather unnoticeable. But his head was now framed by wavey black hair that was beginning to grey at his temples, and his mouth had thin lips. His body was tall, but as he had developed some muscles it wasn’t skeletal anymore.

“I don’t have my wand,” Harry replied in a hard voice.

Voldemort smirked. “And yet you use magic. Impressive, for sure, though not very surprising. You are after all the Boy-Who-Lived.”

“I don’t need your sarcasm,” Harry retorted. “And the only reason you would admit that I’m not hopelessly incompetent is that otherwise you would have to admit that you lost to an incompetent child.”

“True.” Voldemort chuckled. “But that’s in the past now. What counts is the end result... You already know that the Light side has lost, correct? Dumbledore is dead, heart attack, if you will believe me and his precious Order will follow him soon enough as will those fools from the Ministry. But as for you... Have you thought about my offer?”

“No, the answer is ‘no’,” Harry said softly, returning his red-eyed gaze steadily. “I can’t support you, and I won’t.”

“Pity.” Voldemort shrugged. “I hope you will still stay here to rest and recover, and maybe that will give me the time to convince you.”

“I won’t be convinced,” Harry said. “I don’t agree with your methods, and I don’t agree with your views.”

“All the more reason to accept the position as my heir,” Voldemort stated. “You could influence me, bring me back on the right way, so to speak.”

“I doubt I know the right way myself,” Harry replied sadly. “I just know killing people is wrong and that killing people because of who their parents were is even wronger.”

“Ah, if that’s the case... What am I to do with my prisoners then?” Voldemort asked, curiosity in his voice, and Harry blinked in surprise.

“You could offer them freedom in exchange for loyalty. Make them swear on their magic or otherwise banish them from the country.” Harry said after a slight pause. “And if you could be more tolerant and not quite as cruel, I’m sure many of them would agree to support you.”

“If you say so.” Voldemort didn’t seem convinced, but willing enough to give Harry a chance to convince him. “I guess asking them cannot do too much harm. Let us just hope they have more sense than you, Harry Potter. Rest now. I will not kill you nor any of your friends. I will come visit you later.”

With that he turned around to leave, and Harry felt more confused than anything. And something tiny, feeble and inexplicable grew in his heart. Maybe it was something like hope, but he couldn’t tell.

“Wait! Why are you doing this? It would be so much easier to kill me, wouldn’t it? I’m no use to you...”

“You underestimate yourself. I am not offering you this position because I am stupid or conceited enough to think you would feel compelled to agree with me and obey me as my heir. In fact, I am not offering you this because of your power or your influence on the Wizarding world, though that is a nice bonus. I am offering you this because of your influence on **me**. You are the only one who can still make me feel alive, though in the past you did so in a very unpleasant way by reminding me of my own mortality. You are the only one I even vaguely care about, and now that I have the world, I want you as well. I think it is time to regain some of my humanity - not all of it, mind you.”

“Are you kidding me? You don’t honestly think, I’d believe such nonsense!” Harry exclaimed, his green eyes narrowing angrily. “Fuck off and tell someone else this little crystory you thought of. Just fuck off!”

Voldemort laughed, bowed mockingly and turned to the door once more. “Spoken like the brash little lion you are. I will send by a Healer, though there seems to be everything in order with your brain, at least.”

“We can’t all be insane.”

“Indeed. Let me know if you need or want anything-”

“Travers. Is he here?” Harry demanded, ignoring the deep growl coming from Fenrir.

“David Travers? He is on a mission, rounding up Light wizards.” Voldemort didn’t seem surprised by Harry’s question. “Shall I call him back?”

“Who’s he with?” Harry whispered, dread filling his veins like a deadly poison.

“Antonin Dolohov.” Voldemort arched an eyebrow at Harry’s pale face. “Do you know him as well?”

“Call them,” Harry’s voice was hoarse, but if from his injuries or something else was hard to tell. “Now.”

Voldemort lips quirked in amusement, but he opened the door, motioning the Death Eater standing guard in front of it to him, and pressed one lone pale finger to his Dark Mark. The Death Eater sucked in his breath in pain, but otherwise showed no reaction, and with an inclination of his head, he once again took post next to the door.

Moments later a soft plop announced the new arrival. The Death Eater bowed to Voldemort, greeting him with a soft, questioning “My Lord?”

Harry barely recognised the man standing before them. Gone was the cowering, weak, afraid picture of misery. In front of him stood a proud man, a defiant man, straight and though not tall or muscular, there was a tense strength in his lean body. And still the same shadows, the haunted look in his eyes.

“Where is Dolohov?” Voldemort asked, looking the slender man up and down for signs of a fight; he found none.

“My Lord, there was an unfortunate incident.” Travers inclined his head once more. “Dolohov was hit by several curses. I could bring you the remains, if you wish, my Lord.”

“What incident?” Voldemort demanded suspiciously, his voice turning into a hiss with his anger.

“Excuse me.” Harry glared at Voldemort. “I wanted to talk to Travers, not listen to you brabble about how you lost one of your minions. He’s dead, great loss, really!”

“Would you like me to wait outside?” Voldemort asked sarcastically.

Harry chose to ignore his tone, nodding cheerfully. “I’m sure you have better things to do. Remy, Fen, give me a few minutes, please?”

While Remus obediently got up, squeezing Harry’s hand for encouragement, Fenrir only snorted and tightened his arms around the black-haired man’s slim waist.

“Fen...” Harry sighed. “I’m not up for this.”

“Too bad, I’m not up for leaving you,” Fenrir replied. “I’ll be staying right here.”

“Fen...”

“Don’t mind me. I won’t listen. Besides, I know about him, and I know about you. I heard you chatting before.”

“Would someone mind telling me what I’m doing here?” Travers interrupted them, his arms crossed defiantly over his chest. “I don’t remember _‘chatting’_ with Potter.”

Harry made sure the others had left the room, before speaking, “I’m the white wolf who came to you in the night. I know what they did to you. What Dolohov did. You killed him.”

It wasn’t a question, nor a reproach, merely a statement. Travers glanced at the werewolf and then took a careful step towards the bed. “I killed him, and Mulciber and Rookwood. I’ll get them all, eventually.”

“Voldemort’s getting suspicious,” Harry offered cautiously, motioning the Death Eater closer. “He won’t tolerate you killing his minions.”

“No, but I can’t tolerate them living, knowing what they did.” Travers shrugged. “Justice is worth displeasing the Dark Lord.”

“Justice?” Harry asked softly. “You call this- Oh, yes, right, Death Eater. I guess a few more murders won’t weigh too heavily on your already burdened conscience.” Travers nodded, and Harry sighed. “But maybe there’s an alternative-”

“Not for me, little Patronus.” Travers grimaced crookedly. “Though I thank you for your concern and care in that place.”

“Don’t think I’ll just accept this as your fate,” Harry warned. “We’ll see if I can’t change your mind yet...”

“Yes, we’ll see,” Travers agreed. “Until then, I hope you regain your health, little Patronus.”

“Send Voldemort and Remus back in, please?” Harry asked when Travers turned to go. “And don’t let them kill you. You have to give me a chance.”

“I don’t plan on it.” Travers grimaced again, and Harry realised it was Travers’ way of smiling.

The Death Eater left, and Fenrir’s massive chest expanded as he took a deep breath, preparing to berate Harry for his foolish hero complex and remind him that he needed to rest not worry about murderers and rapists and Dark Lords, but before he could start with his tirade, Remus and Voldemort came back in. Remus took a seat on the edge of the bed, as far as possible away from Fenrir and as close as possible to Harry.

“You mustn’t kill him,” Harry said abruptly, staring at the Dark Lord. “I care about him, and I’ll be upset if you do.”

“About whom are we talking here?” Voldemort asked, casually twirling his wand between his fingers. “Lupin here? Greyback? One of your old friends?”

“Travers, I don’t want you to kill Travers,” Harry clarified.

“Would I have a reason to?” Voldemort asked innocently.

“Since when do you need a reason to kill someone?” Harry retorted. “You might be having a bad day, and if he’s unfortunate enough to be around, you might get the idea that it could cheer you up to kill him. So, I’m telling you now that you mustn’t kill him.”

“Interesting,” Voldemort mused. “Still the little hero, Harry Potter. Though I wonder why you feel the need to protect a Death Eater, and from me, no less.”

“Because I like him, and because you’re a bastard,” Harry answered shortly. “If you don’t kill anyone I care for for a while, I might agree to a deal with you.”

Voldemort smiled a rather grotesque smile in reply, a smile that hadn’t been used for such a long time that the muscles had trouble remembering how to form it, but a smile nonetheless. For a second Harry saw the Tom Riddle of the diary, the handsome youth with heaps of charisma and charm.

Harry glared at him, feeling himself mocked, and turned his back on him as much as possible with wasn’t much considering that Fenrir still had a tight hold on him.

“I mean it.”

“If you say so, Harry Potter,” Voldemort replied, his voice a hissed whisper, half threat, half something else that Harry couldn’t identify. “Rest now. You will need your strength.”

The Dark Lord turned to go for good, opening the door with a negligent wave of his wand and gliding out of the room. Harry waited a moment, listening to the fading foot falls before he turned to Fenrir.

“I want to go. I’m not staying here.”

“Something wrong with your head? You aren’t to move from this bed,” Fenrir retorted.

“I’m not staying here!” Harry repeated with more emphasis. “Either you help me get out of here, or I’m going alone.”

“Cub, this really might not be such a good idea,” Remus offered cautiously. “Your wounds might reopen, and...”

“I don’t feel safe here. I want to go, Remy. I can’t heal here with Voldemort being informed about everything I do or say or think.”

“And where would you go?” Fenrir asked sarcastically. “You have nowhere to go.”

“I see that now, yes,” Harry replied with bitterness in his voice. “I’ll find some place.”

“To die.”

“I can only hope.”

“Cub-”

“You won’t die, you stupid wizard! I won’t allow it!”

“Alpha-”

“Oh, so you want me to live, do you? For what fucking purpose, huh? I’m sure in the time I’ll need to recover you’ll be able to find someone else to put your cock into.”

“That’s enough, Harry Potter!” Remus all but shouted, tugging Harry into his own arms, despite Fenrir’s warning growl. “I’m still here, and I care about you, as you well know. If you really want to leave, I’ll make the necessary preparations...”

“I think, I still have a word to say to that,” Fenrir intervened.

“I think you don’t,” Harry snapped. “Please, Remy. I’ll suffocate in here.”

Remus nodded and made to get up from the bed, but before he had moved more than an inch, Fenrir had closed his hand around his throat, his canines bared threateningly, his golden eyes narrowed in anger.

“This discussion is not over, Lupin. And you’d do well to keep out of it from now on.” He tightened his hand, cutting of Remus’ air supply. “Remember your place, Lupin.”

“Yes, Alpha,” Remus whispered, lowering his eyes and tilting his head to expose his vulnerable throat. “But-”

“Nothing but!” Fenrir said forcefully. “Leave.”

“No, you can’t do that!” Harry protested, struggling weakly as Fenrir pulled him back into his lap. “You can’t just rule over my life. You can’t take Remus from me. You can’t...”

“Shutting up would be a good option right now, silly thing,” Fenrir grumbled. “I can’t think when you’re whinging in my ear.”

“There’s nothing-”

“Shh.” Fenrir admonished, putting a finger to Harry’s lips. “You shut up now, I’m taking you away, to my pack, but only if you calm down now, sleep and try to recover.”

“I thought you didn’t want me with you.” Harry glared.

“Stupid wolf,” Fenrir murmured. “I just think you’re overreacting, but if it’s so important to you to leave this comfortable room and switch it for the hard, cold ground and trees as the only protection, I won’t stop you.”

“That’s exactly what I want.”

“Then we’ll leave tonight. Sleep now, Lupin will look to the preparations.”

“But--“

“I’ll be staying here with you. That’s final,” Fenrir growled. “Go, Lupin.”

“It’s okay, cub,” Remus murmured soothingly, squeezing Harry’s hand. “I’ll come back. You just rest and gain some strength.”

“Are you suddenly ashamed because you slept with a werewolf?” Fenrir demanded as soon as the door had closed behind Lupin. “Or why are you being so hostile?”

“What? **I** am being hostile?” Harry retorted. “You just insulted my intelligence and insinuated no one wanted me. Well, guess what, I didn’t like that.”

“So sorry to have hurt your little heart,” Fenrir mocked. “You’re such a sissy.”

“And you’re an asshole. You don’t want me with you, fine. You don’t want to take me to your pack, great. You think I’m not good enough for you, perfect. But don’t you dare treat Remus like this.”

“I’m taking you to my pack, don’t I? And I treat my pack members however I please...”

“Then you’re a possessive asshole. You don’t like me or Remus, but you can’t stand the thought of us being happy - What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Making you shut up,” Fenrir murmured, crushing his lips to Harry’s, his left hand sneaked under his shirt.

“Ouch, you bastard, that hurts.” Harry panted, pushing against Fenrir’s massive chest.

Fenrir unwillingly backed off. “Stupid wolf, and you want to move around. You can’t even take a simple kiss.”

“Shut up,” Harry grumbled, pulling the blanket over himself. “Just shut up, Fen.”

The werewolf laughed, but tugged the blanket protectively around Harry’s slender form and watched the young man sleep, though it wasn’t the most interesting activity. If he was honest with himself, he welcomed Harry’s wish to leave the Headquarters of the Dark Order, to leave this sticky castle that felt almost like another prison to him. He wasn’t sure he understood Harry’s reasoning and he was worried the journey, not far by any means, but not easy either, and the less comfortable life in the woods would aggravate Harry’s injuries.

But he needed to go back, an absent Alpha wasn’t a good Alpha, and he had been absent for too long. When he had declared that he would be staying at the castle for a bit longer, his pack hadn’t been happy. _At the castle_ , he had said, not with Harry, but he was sure his pack had filled in the gap when they had seen how he had rushed to Harry’s side with a complete lack of dignity.

But it had been almost his duty to look after Harry, after what the young Animagus had done for him in Azkaban. And he took duty seriously. Harry was one of his pack now, too. Like Remus Lupin. He growled. Who did the mangy mutt think he was? **He** was making the decisions here, not Dumbledore’s former lapdog!

Harry shifted on the bed, sighing softly, and Fenrir leaned closer to make sure Harry was still asleep. Then he studied the pale face, the slightly creased brow and the sooty, curled lashes that fanned over Harry’s cheek. He looked almost sweet, almost innocent, as if he could harm no one, as if no one could harm him. Untouchable.

But it was easy to touch him, he confirmed for himself, brushing a strand of dark hair out of Harry’s face and then playing with his rough fingers over Harry’s smooth cheek. Harry wasn’t untouchable. He was irresistible. For a mere human.


	2. Respect

Harry was no weight at all, and from time to time, Fenrir had to suspiciously peer down at the bundle of blankets to check that Harry hadn’t magically disappeared. Lupin was behind him, carrying Harry’s medicine, some clothes, extra blankets and also some food, which was completely unnecessary, in Fenrir’s opinion.

Harry was asleep, not of his own volition though, but thanks to a Sleeping Draught Remus had sneaked into his tea. Fenrir welcomed the silence, which was only disturbed by the soft rustling of leaves under his feet, the faint sounds of nocturnal animals, the wind in the trees, Harry’s breathing.

“Alpha!” A tall werewolf with a shock of wild sandy-coloured hair stepped out from between two trees, inclining his head respectfully. “We didn’t expect you so soon. We thought you’d stay with... We thought you’d stay away longer.”

“I changed my plans. Have there been any occurrences, Chetan?” Fenrir asked, ignoring the glances the younger werewolf was casting at Harry.

“No, Alpha,” Chetan replied. “We’ve finished the storage hut and we hunted enough meat to last us a week. Sawyer assigned guard duty.” The young werewolf grimaced.

“Why did Sawyer give the order?” Fenrir demanded to know. “I put Bryan in charge.”

“Bryan wasn’t feeling too well. Maya confined him to bed.” A smile played about Chetan’s lips so Fenrir concluded that his Beta was feeling just a bit under the weather.

“Very well, you can go back to your post,” he dismissed him, mostly to stop the curious looks at Harry.

“Shouldn’t I help you carry something? Or someone?” Chetan asked, and Fenrir growled warningly.

“Do I **look** as if I need help?” Fenrir demanded, bunching his muscles in threat. “Chetan, tell me, do I look **weak** to you?”

The light-haired werewolf hunched his shoulders, whimpering and baring his throat to his Alpha. Fenrir nipped his throat with warning affection, surprised when Chetan pressed closer to him like he had done as a cub.

“I missed you, Alpha,” Chetan whispered, butting Fenrir’s chin with his nose. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“So am I, cub, so am I,” Fenrir answered, appeased. “Now back to your post. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Yes, Alpha,” Chetan answered with a small pout and after one last glance at Harry, he disappeared back into the forest.

Fenrir shifted Harry, making sure he was still held comfortably and securely in his arms before he moved on, motioning Remus to follow him and weaving through the trees to where his pack was resting. The clearing was still mostly bare, but offered enough space for everything Fenrir had planned. Already, a small fire was burning in the middle of the clearing, and Fenrir recognised the sleeping forms of his pack members, except for Chetan, lying around it.

They stirred as Remus and he passed, but when he didn’t stop to talk with them they settled back to sleep. He didn’t want Harry to sleep out in the open. He was sick, and not as robust as a werewolf. And it was still more or less winter. Thus, he carried him over to the only hut already built: the storage hut, which, truth be told, looked more like a slightly larger shed than an actual hut.

“Remus, the blankets,” Fenrir ordered and waited before the brown-haired werewolf had spread the blankets on the floor where sacks of wheat formed a small niche, just large enough to allow them to make a comfortable bed for Harry.

Harry groaned when he was put down, but didn’t wake up. Fenrir spread one more blanket over him, and hesitated. One moment too long. Remus lay down next to Harry, pulling his cub into his arms, tucking the head of unruly black hair under his chin.

“What-” Fenrir stopped abruptly when he saw Harry snuggle closer to the other werewolf with a contented sigh.

Remus was looking at him warily, but Fenrir couldn’t think of the right words to make him leave - not that he needed the right words to make one of his pack members do something - and he reasoned that sleeping with a sleeping Harry wasn’t that exciting in any event. So, with one last hard look at Remus, he turned around sharply and left the hut to sleep outside with his pack.

ö_ö_ö

“Finally decided to wake up, have you?” Fenrir commented, barely acknowledging the drowsy green eyes glaring at him. “I almost thought you were going Sleeping Beauty on me.”

“Funny,” Harry croaked, sitting up with an absent-minded wince. “How long have I been out?”

“Three days,” Fenrir replied, finally turning to meet Harry’s gaze. “You developed a fever; one of your wounds got infected. We were considering taking you to a healer, but then you started to recover. I take it you’re feeling better?”

“Some,” Harry answered, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “So... This is where you live?”

“Yes,” Fenrir stated defiantly, crossing his muscular arms over his chest. “Not the luxury you’re used to, but we have different values here.”

“Indeed, hospitality seems to be one of them,” Harry mocked. “I like it. Fresh air.”

“Yeah, well, Lupin brought you out here. He thought the hut was too stuffy, and he wanted to keep an eye on you while working.” He motioned over to where Remus and two other male werewolves were chopping and sawing wood for the building of another hut.

“Remus!” Harry called, slowly getting to his feet and taking a shaky step towards the brown-haired man, who had looked up from his work.

“Harry, cub!” Remus was with him in just a few seconds, carefully hugging him to his chest. “You shouldn’t be walking around. How are you feeling, cub? Are you in pain? Do you need something? I’m so glad you’re awake.”

“I’m fine, Remy.” Harry laughed, gratefully leaning into the other’s supporting embrace. “I just thought you needed a break from working.”

“Thank you... but maybe I should get back...” Remus offered with a cautious look at his Alpha, who only gave him a sharp look. “We can talk later, cub. Rest, I’ll know if you don’t.”

Harry grinned at the werewolf, tugging on his tawny hair. “Okay, Remy, I’ll be good.”

“I know you will, because I will make sure of it,” Remus replied before he pressed a kiss to Harry’s forehead. “Lay back down, all right?”

“’kay,” Harry mumbled, dropping back down on his pile of blankets.

He realised that he shouldn’t have done so when a searing pain shot up his spine and cramped his stomach. He bit his lip to contain the cry of pain that threatened to spill from his lips. He shouldn’t have done that.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Fenrir commented.

“No shit,” Harry hissed, rubbing a soothing hand over his stomach. “Thanks for that insightful observation.”

Fenrir growled; he had had enough of Harry’s cheek. He was the Alpha, and that was that. Within seconds, Harry found himself pressed into the blankets with a massive werewolf hovering over him, one large hand on his chest, almost at his throat. Remus gave a distressed whimper.

“Now you listen, puppy. I won’t tolerate that tone, not from you, not from anyone,” he growled, baring his sharp canines. “You either give me the respect I demand or you leave. There is no special treatment for anyone, no matter how nice your butt is. Am I understood?”

“Have you ever considered removing that stick in your ass?” Harry asked back, pushing Fenrir’s face away from his. “Or doing your own work instead of just sitting around while others work?”

“Enough, Harry, this is enough,” Fenrir growled dangerously. “Maybe I should just bite you, suck the defiance out of you, turn you into a pliant little cub, my submissive.”

“You wouldn’t do that,” Harry stated confidently. “I’m still injured. I wouldn’t survive, you know that, and as little as you care about me, you would still not risk my death. I know that.”

“I might if you don’t stop provoking me,” Fenrir said, still hovering above him. Harry smelled kind of nice and his skin really shouldn’t look so creamy.

“Oh, do you mean provoking, or **provoking**?” Harry asked with a sly grin, pushing his hips up against Fenrir’s, pressing their groins together. “Because, if I remember correctly, you like to be **provoked** by me, no?”

“Lupin, get back to work now,” Fenrir ordered, without taking his eyes off of Harry. “Harry and I have some matters to discuss about his stay here.”

“I don’t think... Alpha...”

“Remy, trust me, I’ll be fine. Promise.” Harry smiled reassuringly at his surrogate godfather. “I won’t do anything I don’t want to do.”

“If you’re sure... But call me if you need me.” Remus hesitated a second longer before he slowly made his way back to the other werewolves, who had interrupted their work to stare at what was happening between their Alpha and Harry.

“So, where were we?” Harry purred. “Oh, yes, you wanted me to stop provoking you. Stop doing this.” He slid his slender leg between Fenrir’s thighs, rubbing against the growing hardness he found there. “And also this.” He blew softly on Fenrir’s neck before nipping and licking over his skin. “And of course this.” He raked his hands over Fenrir’s bare back, pulling him closer. “Are you sure you want me to stop, wolfie?”

“Don’t you dare.”

“I thought so.” Harry smirked, moving his leg with more insistence.

“No.” Fenrir stopped him. “Don’t you dare twist me around again, little human. We were having a serious conversation and you can’t just distract me with sex and do the same exact thing again moments later.”

“It worked until now.” Harry sighed, sinking back into his blankets. “I get it, you know? You want respect, that’s a common enough wish.”

“But you don’t give me respect, even though we had an agreement,” Fenrir growled, grabbing Harry’s chin. “Why?”

Harry’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Exactly, we had an agreement: Treat me with respect, I’ll give you respect. It’s that simple. And don’t be all huffy, just because I made a joke. You aren’t that important.”

An angry rumble started in Fenrir’s chest, but Harry didn’t back down.

“I don’t need your respect, Fen. I can live just fine with being your fuck buddy or whatever else we are. But if it’s that important to you, you have to make the first step.”

“Fuck buddy? Fuck buddy?” Fenrir echoed incredulously. “We aren’t fuck buddies.”

“Then what are we, Fen?” Harry asked. “Would you prefer the term ‘friends with benefits’? Fact is that we had sex without any romantic afflictions, and if you would be a bit more accommodating we could make that happen again. What do you think, wolfie?” Harry whispered the last question in the werewolf’s ear.

“Harry,” Fenrir groaned, trying and failing to keep in control of the conversation. “I don’t want meaningless sex.”

“Who said it would be meaningless?” Harry smirked. “I’m sure we can make it very meaningful... and very enjoyable.”

“Yes,” Fenrir growled, giving up the struggle, claiming Harry’s mouth so he would at least stop mouthing off.

Nonetheless, he felt Harry’s triumphant smile as he plundered his mouth and when he drew back to get rid of Harry’s shirt and pants he avoided looking into his face because he knew exactly what expression he would find there. Let Harry think he had won, Fenrir knew better.

Fenrir felt a shiver of magic go over him and when he looked around himself it was as if they were surrounded by milky white fog.

“Privacy Charm,” Harry offered while one of his hands sneaked into Fenrir’s washed-out jeans, brushing over his arousal. “They can’t see or hear us.”

“What about smell?” Fenrir asked between nips to Harry’s neck.

“We’ll be smelling like sex anyway, there’ll be no doubt about what we were doing.” Harry grinned, but performed another spell when Fenrir didn’t seem very amused. “All secure now, and I’ll get rid of the smell afterwards, yes? Can we get going now? Please, Fen.”

The werewolf didn’t need to be asked twice and soon they were entwined, Harry’s legs wrapped tightly around Fenrir’s waist, his hips tilted upwards to allow Fenrir to penetrate deeper. There rhythm wasn’t harmonious, but hard and frantic, full of passion and fire, and meaning.

Harry only felt the pain, from his still healing injuries and the lack of preparation, when Fenrir pulled out again and bedded him on the blankets, but he kept any comment to himself. He was too tired for another quarrel. He waved his hand to get rid of the smell of sex and then he almost instantly fell asleep, leaving Fenrir to dress him again and cover him with the blankets.


	3. Acceptance

When Harry woke up again, a heavy body was wrapped around him and a large hand leisurely stroked his stomach, drawing imaginary signs on his skin. He sighed, wishing fervently that they could stay this way. Forever, or at least for a few more endless moments.

“Are you awake, little one?” Fenrir murmured in his ear. “Are you ready to meet my pack?”

“I was thinking of doing something else.” Harry hummed in content, snuggling closer to the werewolf. “Up for round two?”

“Normally yes, white wolf, but the pack is waiting for you.” Fenrir chuckled, pressing a kiss to Harry’s brow. “Open your eyes.”

Harry grumbled in displeasure, but opened his eyes only to stare into Remus’ furrowed face. “Hey, Remy.” Harry smiled innocently. “How’re you doing?”

“We’re going to have a serious conversation about this, cub,” Remus stated sternly.

Harry sighed. He somehow had the feeling that this conversation wasn’t something to look forward to. But before he could dwell on it, he caught sight of the group of werewolves standing around them. Suddenly he didn’t feel all that safe and comfortable in Fenrir’s embrace anymore and he hastily got up in a futile attempt to match them in height. Merlin, were they tall! Even the two women, one an elderly werewolf with snow white hair and auburn eyes, and the other a slender, full-breasted young woman with flowing dark brown hair, towered over him.

“Um, hi?” Harry shifted from one foot to the other before he was able to stop himself.

“Not very eloquent, is he?” the older woman remarked with a soft snort and didn’t seem at all impressed by Fenrir’s warning glare.

Harry felt gratefulness well up inside of him when Fenrir stepped behind him, wrapping him in his strong arms. “Harry, I want you to meet my pack. The one who just spoke is Maya, next to her is her mate Bryan, my Beta.”

He pointed at the oldest werewolf, whose face was lined with wrinkles, but whose shoulders were still almost as broad as Fenrir’s. His honey-coloured eyes spoke of a lifetime of experience - and of his dislike for Harry.

“Then there is Tristan, Maya’s little brother,” Fenrir continued the introduction, ignorant of or unconcerned about the hostile looks Harry received.

The resemblance between Tristan and Maya was hardly noticeable. They had the same auburn eyes and thin nose, but Tristan’s hair was still curly and brown, though streaked with a few grey hairs.

“The others are Sawyer, Lin and Chetan.” Fenrir motioned to the tallest werewolf with long canines and wild reddish black hair and a goatee, then to the second women and finally to a werewolf about Remus’ age with sandy-brown hair.

“It’s nice to meet you all.” Harry tried to smile winningly, but received only cold stares in return. “Thanks for having me here.”

“Not our choice,” Sawyer answered coldly, but continued before Fenrir could reprimand him for his tone. “Alpha, I finished the plans for the huts. If you’d like to have a look at them?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute.” Fenrir nodded and gave his pack permission to go back to work. “Why don’t you rest some more, sweet little thing, hm?”

“I can help,” Harry protested, struggling against Fenrir’s guiding hand at the small of his back. “I’m fine enough to work. I can help you, Fen.”

“There’s no need, Harry.” Fenrir smiled and then kissed his temple. “I’d rather you gathered strength for tonight. For round two.”

“But you’re building your home, and I want to stay here, so it’ll be my home as well, right?” Harry asked nervously. “It’s only right to help. I want to.”

“For all I care, but don’t complain this evening. I won’t go easy on you just because you wanted to work.” Fenrir shrugged, turning away. “Well, come on then. You can help Sawyer with measuring the logs.”

“Okay.” Harry grinned. “Don’t worry, I can easily keep up with you, old man.”

Fenrir merely arched an eyebrow, and if Harry had thought but a second longer about it, this arched eyebrow would have worried him. But he didn’t think about it.

“So, what can I do?” Harry asked Sawyer cheerfully, trying to get a look at the plans the werewolf was holding.

The werewolf looked down at him, then replied shortly. “There’s only one measuring tape. Go help Tristan and Chetan.”

“Okay, but call me if I can help you.” Harry walked over to Tristan and Chetan, who were already sawing the wood, cutting it to the correct size.

Each of them was handling a large-toothed wood saw, and the strands of wood trickled steadily to the ground. They were working with bare upper bodies, their chests glistening with sweat despite the low temperatures, and Harry decided then and there to never get undressed in front of any of them. He had thought he was past that state of self-consciousness.

“Is there another saw?” Harry doubted he would be able to cut the wood even half as fast as they could, if at all.

“No, but you can carry the wood over to the site,” Chetan said, maybe not exactly warmly, but not with the open hostility the others had shown, and a brilliant smile spread over Harry’s face. “It’s over there. See where we put the branches on the ground? You can put the logs there.”

Chetan motioned to some branches and twigs that formed a rough square and then over to the already cut logs that were all longer than Harry or even Fenrir. Harry took a deep breath and gathered his magic around him. It was still weak, though Harry didn’t want to admit it, a slight flutter instead of the strong buzz it usually was. But it would just have to do.

With a whispered command and an outstretched hand, the first log moved to the designated place and gently placed itself on the ground. After the second log, Harry already felt his heart race and the sweat trickle down his back. But he still levitated another log, and another, and another, until his magic deserted him. His hands shook and his vision blackened for a moment; then he felt the looks in his back. He tried to straighten up, even his breathing, but his exhausted body didn’t obey him. Frustrated with himself, feeling weak and humiliated, he watched as Chetan walked past him with light, powerful steps and picked the log up as if it weighed no more than Harry himself.

“Come, Harry, you can help me,” Remus soft voice called him, and the werewolf placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder, leading him over to his workplace, where he had been chipping little blocks of wood into wedges and spikes. “Didn’t I tell you to take it easy?”

“No, you didn’t, but it was kind of understood,” Harry murmured, dropping to the ground close to his godfather. “Remy, are you angry with me? Because I’ve been sleeping with Fenrir?”

“I just think you haven’t really thought it through,” Remus said after a bit of hesitation. “And I think you could do better.”

“I thought you considered Fenrir an honourable man, a good Alpha and not a bad choice for me.” Harry arched an eyebrow.

“I think you could do better than a purely physical relationship,” Remus clarified. “I think you deserve to be someone’s number one, and for an Alpha his pack will always be more important. I think you deserve someone who carries you on hands. I know you’re not made of glass, I know you can take almost everything, but I just think you shouldn’t have to.”

Harry smiled, snuggling into the werewolf. “As long as I have you, I’ll be fine. Love you, Remy.”

“Love you, too, cub. Just promise me to be safe.” Remus looked intently at his godson.

“Of course. Fen worries enough for both of us.” Harry smiled appeasingly at his surrogate godfather, who sighed but nodded.

“Do you want to help me, or are you too tired?”

“I’ll help,” Harry said immediately. “I’d have been fine if I had had my wand.”

“You can have my wand for the time being,” Remus offered readily, reaching into his pocket of his worn cloak to retrieve it. “I don’t really need it here.”

“Are you sure?” Harry asked uncertainly.

“Harry, this society has different rules, and Fenrir doesn’t like me using magic. He says I should remember my werewolf side and forget about the wizard in me.” Remus’ tone was neutral. “Maybe he’ll be more forgiving if you use magic as you have no other possibility. Here, take it.”

“Thank you, Remus.”

Harry pocketed the wand, and they settled down to chip more wedges in companionable silence.

ö_ö_ö

He had known Harry would overstrain himself, _stupid human_. And now Harry was sitting with Lupin. Again. Talking to him, laughing with him, touching him. And Lupin was calling him cub! Fenrir turned his attention abruptly back to Sawyer and Bryan, who were discussing where to build the other huts, where to cut the necessary wood and when to go hunting again.

“What do you say, Alpha?” Sawyer asked, and Fenrir realised that he had no idea to what matter his opinion was asked.

“Why did you sent Harry to work with Tristan and Chetan?” he asked instead. “I didn’t want him to exhaust himself.”

“I’m sorry, Alpha, but he thought measuring the logs was... not very interesting. It was his own decision. If I’d known it was against your orders, I’d have stopped him, of course,” Sawyer answered with a respectful incline of his head.

Fenrir grunted. He should have known, Harry would want to show off, to prove himself. The small man was too stubborn and pride-ridden for his own good. Well, Harry would see what it would earn him to go against his orders and act like he possessed not an ounce of common sense.

“What about the full moon, Alpha?” Bryan asked softly. “Will the human stay with us?”

“ **Harry** will stay with us, also for the full moon. He’s a wolf Animagus so there won’t be any problems,” Fenrir stressed Harry’s name and glared at his old Beta; Harry wasn’t a regular human, and he wouldn’t stand for Harry being insulted in his presence or his authority being undermined. Even though, he understood that his pack was not quite sure what to make of Harry, a human, a wizard, being here and so he was willing to give them a bit more leeway.

“I’m sure you’ve thought this through, Alpha,” Bryan replied, respect and warning mixing in his voice.

“How much meat have we left?” Fenrir demanded, steering the conversation back to familiar topics.

ö_ö_ö

Maya and Lin were busy passing out dinner to the waiting werewolves: homemade stew consisting almost entirely of meat, only seasoned with a few potatoes and herbs and served with pieces of flat bread, which Harry admitted, smelled heavenly. Harry stayed back, not wanting to get in the way or on the wrong side of one of them by not respecting the pecking order and fearing that it would offend Maya if he confessed to not liking her less than vegetarian cooking.

“Harry, is it?” Lin, with a seductive swing of her hips, approached him. “Here, I brought you some stew.”

“Thank you, but - Ouch, dammit, that’s hot!” Harry cursed, trying to brush the hot stew Lin had just poured over his lap off his clothes before they soaked completely through.

“Why thank you.” Lin laughed, turning around. “I’ll get some more stew.”

“No, thank you,” Harry pressed out, glaring at her back. “I guess an apology is too much to ask, huh?”

“For you, yes, filthy human,” Lin hissed, the nice facade crumpling, and Harry instinctively took a step back to avoid her claw-like fingernails that threatened to scratch his face. “There’s no place for you here.”

“Too bad it’s not for you to decide, right?” Harry mumbled and glared after her as she turned to go.

“Believe me, human, you won’t stay long. My Alpha has better tastes than that,” Lin retorted, looking over her shoulder.

“Like you, you mean?” Harry demanded sarcastically, just barely dodging the punch she had aimed at his nose, but the next punch hit him in the stomach, close to where he had been injured.

The breath was knocked out of him, and he sank to his knees, his arms protectively wrapped around his middle.

“What is going on?” Fenrir approached them with fast steps, seeing Harry slumped on the ground and Lin standing over him.

“Be glad he hasn’t tired of you yet,” Lin hissed before she strode away, smiling at Fenrir as she passed him.

“What happened? What are you doing on the ground? Why are your clothes wet?” Fenrir demanded, harshly picking Harry up.

“It’s nothing.” Harry shook of Fenrir’s hands on his shoulders. “I spilled the stew.”

“Then get a new portion,” Fenrir ordered.

“I don’t eat meat, remember?” Harry said in return. “But don’t worry, I’m not hungry anyway. Want to have sex?”

Fenrir stared at Harry for a moment, at a loss for words at the bluntness of his proposal, but then nodded, his eyes darkening with lust. He didn’t see Harry’s eyes darken with something else.

“Let’s go,” Fenrir said, striding past his pack and the storage hut and into the forest.

He didn’t turn to see if Harry was following him, the soft foot falls behind him all the information he needed. He deeply inhaled the scent of the forest, of wilderness, of freedom and of Harry. Sweet and fresh and unobtrusive. It was the smell of the full moon, of running freely under her pale silver light that caressed his fur and tickled his nose until he wanted to howl in a happy greeting.

It was a foolish thought, he knew, to compare Harry, a mere human, worse yet a wizard, with the full moon, but the feelings the sight of Harry’s body - he felt his pulse quicken - invoked in him were similar to what he felt the night of the full moon. Moonlight skin, night sky hair.

“Where are we going?” Harry complained, plugging a twig out of his hair. “I didn’t want to go for a walk, you know?”

“And I don’t think you want to give my pack or your beloved godfather, a show,” Fenrir replied, but then added more conciliatorily, “We’re almost there... I can’t wait to taste your skin, little wolf.”

Harry didn’t reply and just kept trotting after him. Fenrir turned, catching Harry in his arms, tilting his chin up to look into those deep green eyes. “What is it, Harry? Why so depressed?”

“I’m not depressed.” Harry tried to turn his head away, closing his eyes when Fenrir’s large hands prevented this.

“Talk to me, my sweet little wolf,” Fenrir prompted gently, rubbing his thumbs over Harry’s cheeks. “I know I haven’t had much time for you today, but it’ll be better once everyone has settled in, once all the huts are built.”

“Your pack doesn’t like me,” Harry murmured finally, putting his head on Fenrir’s chest and wrapping his arms around his waist. “They don’t want me here, Fen.”

“Oh, nonsense, Harry.” Fenrir laughed in relief. “They just need some time to warm up to you. They’re a little wary of you, protective of each other, like I taught them. But you managed to make me realise that you’re not like other humans and you’ll do it again. I know it. You’re pretty damn likeable for a wizard and stubborn enough to outlast their initial wariness. In no time at all you’ll feel right at home with them. Don’t worry about it, little moonlight.”

Harry sighed, allowing Fenrir’s strong arms to provide him with the comfort Fenrir’s words had lacked. “Sex?”

“That too.” Fenrir chuckled, kissing Harry’s temple and then scooped him into his arms. “Come on, I’ll carry you. You did enough work for today; you deserve some time to recover.”

“Why, do you have something planned?” Harry grinned, putting his arms around Fenrir’s neck. “Thank you, I’m really a bit tired.”

“You would be, silly thing,” Fenrir grumbled, but felt the corners of his mouth twitch and quickly pressed another kiss to Harry’s forehead to hide this fact. “But I think I’ll still be able to arouse your interest for some action.”

“That’s sounds rather promising, I have to say,” Harry replied with a teasing smile before he started to nibble on Fenrir’s neck and tug with his teeth on the werewolf’s earlobe.

The Alpha suppressed a groan, hastily pushing a branch out of his way to reveal a moss-covered clearing, on one side framed by edged rocks, on the other by tall coniferous trees that permeated the air with their evergreen scent. Fenrir surveyed the clearing to find a relatively dry spot for what they had planned. Then he carefully put Harry down, cradling the small body in his arms, just looking at him.

“What?” Harry demanded, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Nothing,” Fenrir replied, kissing Harry’s nose. “I merely think you’re beautiful.”

“This is different than in Azkaban, isn’t it?” Harry murmured. “You’re different. Maybe I’m different, too.”

“Different in what way?” Fenrir demanded.

“You snap at me on moment, then compliment me in the next. Your moods switch from one extreme to the other and you glared at Remus all day. Maybe you’re afraid to lose me now that you think I have somewhere else to go, someone else to be with,” Harry stated pensively. “Or maybe you’re not afraid, just possessive.” _And maybe that was just wishful thinking_ , Harry added silently.

“I was possessive of you in Azkaban,” Fenrir grumbled, feeling uncomfortable with the way the conversation was going. “And I’m possessive of you, now.”

“Then show me,” Harry ordered, easily changing the tone of their conversation, smirking at the werewolf. “Show me what you’ve got, wolfie.”

Fenrir growled, and Harry laughed, arching into him, his slender body melding itself against Fenrir’s broad torso. Fenrir sucked in a breath, wrapping one arm around Harry’s waist to lift him away from the cold ground. He scowled at the tattered coveralls Harry was still wearing. They smelled like Azkaban, and they weren’t warm enough for Harry.

“Fen!” Harry punched the werewolf’s shoulder. “Can’t you, for once, concentrate on sex and not let your mind wander to whatever you’re thinking about now? You can worry about world peace when we’re finished here.”

“Harry, you’ll catch a cold...”

Harry groaned. “Most of all I’ll grow bored, Fen. I’m not weak or fragile, and a little chilliness won’t kill me. Besides, I wouldn’t be cold if we were having sex. That always kind of heats me up, you know?”

“Harry...”

“Fen, I really don’t have the motivation for this. Please?”

“We’ll talk afterwards,” Fenrir compromised, and Harry smiled in triumph, taking Fenrir’s face between his hands.

“Agreed, now how about we do something to get rid of all those clothes between us?” Harry asked, sliding his hands over Fenrir’s chest down under the waistband of his jeans.

“Not so fast, young one.” Fenrir smirked at the scowl that appeared on Harry’s face. “I plan to taste every patch of your skin, discover every nook and cranny of your body, and then I’ll mark all my discoveries as my own.”

Harry moaned, feeling Fenrir’s gaze like an actual caress, stimulating his nerve endings, setting his blood afire until his body vibrated with the need to be touched. He thrust his hips up against Fenrir’s, willing the werewolf to take the hint and follow through with his promise, but instead Fenrir chuckled before firmly pinning Harry’s hands over his head.

“Your hands stay there, Harry, or there’ll be consequences you won’t like,” Fenrir threatened, staring into Harry’s eyes.

“Spoilsport,” Harry muttered but nodded obediently. “Get a move on, Fen.”

“I think someday I have to teach you a lesson on patience,” Fenrir murmured with amusement, but started to kiss Harry’s neck, licking the soft, sensitive skin, eliciting small sighs and pleased moans from the younger man.

Fenrir pushed Harry’s coveralls out of the way as far as possible, kissed and tasted the revealed skin, tasted Harry. Not hurried and fleeting like the day before when the only thought on his mind had been to finally get at least a little bit of submission from Harry. Submission, however, that had been just as short-lived and limited as their foreplay. So, clearly, haste and force wasn’t the way to assure Harry’s cooperation, might as well try another approach.

He allowed Harry to move his hands long enough for him to shrug out of his clothes, but then he once again placed them over Harry’s head, bestowed a stern look on the young Animagus and went back to kissing Harry’s chest and stomach, his arms and sides, always making sure to hover as close to Harry as possible to protect him from the icy wind and lend him some body heat. Nonetheless, Harry’s skin turned red from the cold and not only from his gentle nips, and when Harry wasn’t biting his lip to suppress his moans, Fenrir could see that they had also acquired a bluish tint.

“Silly human,” Fenrir grumbled, looking down at Harry. “You’re freezing.”

“Later, Fen, you agreed,” Harry reminded him, spreading his legs in invitation. “I’ll be warm in no time with you inside of me. Unless you’d like to bottom?”

“Keep dreaming,” Fenrir growled, reaching into the pocket of his jeans to retrieve a small jar of grease. “Now shut up or I might decide not to use this.”

“You wouldn’t.” Harry smirked, watching with interest as Fenrir slipped out of his jeans, the only piece of clothing he was wearing. “You would be much too worried about hurting me.”

“You’re lucky you’re right,” Fenrir answered, coating his fingers and his erection liberally with the grease. “It’s good for you that I care more about you than you seem to care about yourself. Ready?”

Harry nodded, taking a deep breath when one finger was pushed into him, soon to be joined by a second and a third one because Fenrir might have been concerned for Harry’s wellbeing, but that didn’t make him any more patient. Soon, Fenrir replaced his fingers with his erection, steadily pushing into his young lover until he could go no further and then setting up a hard, deep rhythm that pushed Harry over the ground, until Fenrir took a hold of his hips to keep him in place.

Harry groaned, shifting just a little, which caused Fenrir to hit his prostate with his next stroke. Harry hissed in pleasure, his eyes fluttering close when Fenrir drew back and then snapping open again when Fenrir thrust back into him, hitting his prostate once more.

Fenrir was breathing heavily, growling and groaning as his thrusts became more frantic, his movements less controlled and his hold on Harry even tighter. He felt invigorated, his heart beating fast and furious in his chest and his eyes darkening to tarnished gold. He greedily drank in Harry’s submission, the way his pale body responded readily to his every touch, his green eyes slightly unfocused instead of sharp with defiance, his lips parted to let his gaps and half-articulated pleas escape, his head thrown back to expose that vulnerable, pale white throat. With a roar, he found his release deep inside of Harry, pushing the younger man over the edge with the last furious stroke against his pleasure spot.

The werewolf slumped over Harry’s slender form, wrapping his arms tightly around the trembling body, until Harry’s trembles subsided to a slight shivering. He sat up, pulling Harry into his lap, and then gathered their clothes to cover Harry with them.

“Can we talk now?” he demanded, nudging Harry’s cheek with his nose.

“Don’t act like having sex with me was a huge sacrifice on your part,” Harry muttered, snuggling close to the werewolf. “Just give me a minute, then we can talk all you want.”

“Why are you so tired?” Fenrir asked suspiciously, and Harry groaned.

“We just had sex, Fen, if you’ll be so kind as to remember. I’m afraid I don’t have your stamina. I’m no werewolf,” Harry replied with his eyes closed.

“Maybe I should change that,” Fenrir murmured pensively, tracing Harry’s jaw with his finger. “It would simplify some things.”

“Not for me,” Harry answered drowsily. “Besides, I don’t have a problem with not being as strong or as enduring as you. But I think you would have a problem if I were as domineering as you, Alpha wolfie.” Harry grinned up at him. “What would you do if you couldn’t throw me to the ground anymore to have your naughty way with me?”

“I’d have my naughty way with you up against a tree or a wall.” Fenrir smirked. “In fact, I might do that regardless of my ability to throw you to the ground.”

“Promises, promises.” Harry laughed.

Fenrir groaned when he realised what had happened again. “Harry, dammit! We have to talk, you need warmer clothes. You need to eat something, and you need to recover completely before you use your magic again to the point of exhaustion, and...”

“Would you shut up if I acted as if I agreed?” Harry pondered and Fenrir growled angrily. “Yeah, well, was worth a try, right? Come on, Fen. So I’ll get something warm to wear, it’s not a big deal. I can ask Dobby to bring me a cloak, and I’ll also ask for some vegetarian food. Don’t worry about my magic, I’m as good as healed, and my magic has never deserted me thus far.”

“I wasn’t finished,” Fenrir pointed out, scowling in annoyance.

“Right.” Harry rolled his eyes. “Don’t you think I know what you were leading up to? Once again: respect, submission, obedience. You’re like a broken record, Fen. You expect all of that from me without giving a damn about what I want. I’m not your bitch, wolfie.”

“I never said you were,” Fenrir argued. “You’re my cub, my-”

“I’m not your cub!” Harry snapped. “Get that into your thick skull! I’m Remus’ cub, not yours and no amount of huffing and puffing on your part is going to change that. And I don’t like the way you treat him.” He scowled. “You treat him worse than your other werewolves. You basically kick him around.”

“That’s because he’s the Omega,” Fenrir said matter-of-factly. “But-”

“Excuse me, the what?” Harry demanded, going rigid in Fenrir’s arms.

“The weakest of the pack. Lupin is the lowest in the pack hierarchy, just like I’m the highest,” Fenrir explained. “I say what should be done, he does the jobs no-one else wants to do. I get served food first unless I say otherwise, he last. I can choose the best furs and the best sleeping place, and he has to take what is left...”

“Oh, right, if it’s like that,” Harry said sarcastically. “Dammit, Fen. Do you even know what a great person he is? I don’t care about your stupid hierarchy, I don’t care if you like to order people around and I frankly don’t care if you think treating Remus like this is right, because it isn’t. I care about Remus, and that’s it. If you plan to keep me here, you’d better change your attitude towards him.”

Harry got up fluidly and shrugged into his clothes, ignoring Fenrir completely, and then made his way back to the pack and Remus. The werewolves had already settled down around the fire that was burning in the middle of the clearing, but Remus was washing the plates in a barrel a bit to the side. Without a word, Harry took the towel and while Remus washed the plates in the cold water, Harry dried and stacked them neatly in a wooden box.

“Thank you, cub.” Remus smiled gently. “But you didn’t have to.”

“Remus, are you happy here?” Harry asked abruptly, looking up at the werewolf.

“Yes, Harry, I’m happy,” Remus answered with only a moment’s hesitation. “What brought this on, cub? Why do you think I might not be happy?”

“Fenrir told me about your status here,” Harry said bitterly and cast a dark look at the woods where Fenrir hadn’t appeared yet.

Remus actually smiled, putting an arm around Harry’s slender shoulders. “That I’m the Omega?” Harry nodded with a dark scowl on his face. “Harry, I didn’t expect anything else. I’m the new one. These people have lived and fought and relied on each other for more than three decades. Earning their trust and being allowed to stay here is more than I hoped for. Being the Omega means I have a place here, even if it’s not the best there is. I’m happy, Harry.”

“Oh,” Harry mumbled.

“What is it, cub?”

“I don’t like how Fenrir treats you, and I told him so,” Harry admitted sheepishly. “I guess that was a bit quick of me, huh?”

Remus’ expression changed to one of amusement mixed with worry as his eyes swept over the clearing, looking for the Alpha, who still hadn’t returned. “I take it you didn’t use a purely rational tone to voice your opinion?”

“No, but it was his own fault for being so arrogant,” Harry defended himself. “And whatever you say, I think you deserve better.”

“I guess, I should have explained everything beforehand.” Remus sighed, but smiled at Harry to show him how much he appreciated his words. “But what’s done is done. You’ll just have to apologise to him.”

“What? No!” Harry stared up at him as if he had lost his mind. “I’m not going to apologise for speaking my mind.”

“Harry,” Remus said warningly, and a growl entered his voice.

Harry glared back, tilting his chin up defiantly, but deflated when Remus didn’t budge. “Fine, I’ll think about it. You can’t expect me to stay up all night, waiting for Mr. I’m-the-Alpha-and-you’re-nothing to show up just to stroke his wounded ego.”

Remus sighed again, but nodded. “Let’s grab some sleep, cub. I know you must be tired.”

As if in confirmation of Remus’ words, a yawn escaped Harry and he gratefully followed Remus to his sleeping place, which was furthest from the fire. Still, it was softened by one huge bear fur and several sheep furs, most of wish Remus wordlessly piled over Harry. He then lay down close to his godson, pulling him into his arms, melting the little resistance he felt with soft words.

Harry almost instantly drifted off into a light sleep, the furs and Remus’ arm keeping him warm and making him feel protected. However, this reprieve from consciousness didn’t last long as Harry felt someone standing over them, looking at them. His eyes snapped open as his body tensed, waking Remus.

“Alpha?” Remus murmured, sitting up partly.

“Remus,” Fenrir said neutrally, and from his lying position Harry couldn’t discern if Fenrir was looking at Remus or at neither of them. “This is my sleeping place.”

“Of course, Alpha.” Remus lowered his head. “I apologise.”

“Just see to it that it doesn’t happen again,” Fenrir replied, shaking his head for Remus to go. “You can sleep over there.” He motioned vaguely to a sleeping place closer to the fire.

“Thank you, Alpha,” Remus said, getting up, but hesitated when Harry didn’t move to follow him. “Cub?”

“I think I’m right here, Remus,” Harry answered with a warm smile at his godfather. “Good night.”

“Take care, cub,” Remus murmured and reluctantly left Harry alone with his Alpha.

Harry patted the furs beside him, scooting over as Fenrir lay down next to him. They lay next to each other in silence for a while before Harry pressed closer, putting his chin on his crossed hands over Fenrir’s chest to look at the werewolf.

“I need to apologise to you,” Harry stated, looking into Fenrir’s golden eyes. “I’m sorry for earlier, Fen. I don’t understand your life and your rules here, but still I snapped at you. I should have got all the facts before judging you.”

Fenrir grumbled, but didn’t reply, and Harry sighed. “I’m sorry, Fen. Please, don’t be angry with me. I can’t sleep if you’re angry with me.”

“I’m not angry.” Fenrir sighed, putting an arm over Harry’s back. “This life here is new for you, I should have anticipated an averse reaction to... Remus’ position here.”

Harry nodded against Fenrir’s chest, before pressing a kiss to his adam’s apple. “Remus told me that it’s okay for him, that he’s happy here and that he feels like he belongs.”

“But you think that I’m taking advantage of him?” Fenrir asked evenly, but Harry shook his head.

“No, Fen. I can see that you’re a great Alpha, that you really care about all of them and do what you think is best for the pack. You would never take advantage of them, I know that.”

“Then what is it?”

“I have a hard time believing that Remus would want someone who rules his life. I don’t understand why he would want to submit, give up control.” Harry bit his lip. “I’m afraid of that, Fen. Don’t expect me to.”

Fenrir felt a shiver run over Harry’s body and tightened his hold on him. “I don’t, little wolf. Not anymore.”

“I know you do, Fen,” Harry whispered, pressing close to him. “It’s who you are. I don’t want to change you, but I don’t think I can change for you either.”

“You won’t have to,” Fenrir growled angrily.

Harry laughed and then kissed Fenrir’s cheek. “You say so now, wolfie, but I think that’ll change soon enough-”

“No, it won’t!” Fenrir said forcefully, scowling when Harry only chuckled. “I won’t let you go, little human.”

“Maybe you’ll find that you don’t have a choice,” Harry murmured sleepily.

“I’ll always have a choice,” Fenrir said with conviction, and Harry smiled tiredly before curling up over Fenrir’s stomach.

Soon after, Fenrir felt Harry’s breathing even out and some of the tension leaving the taut body. He sighed, tucking the sheep furs around Harry to make sure he was kept warm. He sightlessly stared at the night sky, barely registering the waxing moon.

“I’ll always have a choice,” Fenrir repeated in a low but fierce whisper, “and so will you, Harry. Because **I** do care about you, even if you only care about Lupin.”


	4. Worth

Harry yelped in pain as sharp teeth sank into his side, and he twisted around to snap at his attacker. The werewolf danced away, barring his teeth and growling deep in his throat. Harry growled back, staring into the other wolf’s yellow eyes. This was going too far!

He had tolerated their hostility, their verbal attacks, their contempt and had tried to overlook the way they treated Remus. But now they had hounded up on him, hunted him through the forest under the pale light of the full moon. He didn’t know where Fenrir was, but his pack was good at distracting him. The werewolf, Sawyer, swiped with his paw at Harry, leaving a bleeding stream across his nose. Harry drew back, stumbling over a root and whimpering as pain flared through his body.

He didn’t know where the others were. Lin and Chetan. Bryan mostly ignored him, though he sometimes scoffed when Harry failed to do a task as quickly or as efficiently as the werewolves. Maya refused to look at him, pretending to be unable to lower her eyes enough to meet his. Harry had given up trying to get food from her, let alone engage her in conversation. Tristan had a habit of jostling Harry out of the way, sometimes with enough force to land the black-haired man on the ground so that Harry had taken to giving him a wide berth.

But Lin, Chetan and Sawyer actively sought him out to tyrannise him. And with the full moon, the harmlessness had left their game. Now they were out for blood. Harry’s blood.

He felt a shiver creep up his spine as a twig cracked somewhere to his right. They were surrounding him, cutting off his way of escape, his way back to Fenrir and Remus. His hackles rose in a futile attempt to match Sawyer in size, to seem as threatening as he did. The rustling of leaves behind him.

It had been a long time since Harry had felt self-conscious because of his height, because of his body, but these werewolves pushed him even further. They made him feel inferior with the ease with which they stemmed logs of wood, carried rocks or dug holes in the ground. A branch snapped to his left.

And he ran, teeth scraping along his side as he shot past Sawyer, an angry howl in his ears. They didn’t trust him, they didn’t **want** him here. He was an intruder, a human, a wizard, everything they had learnt to hate.

Harry felt the air burn in his lungs. They were gaining, but it wasn’t far anymore to the clearing where they had built their huts. He would be safe there.

His legs felt wobbly as he broke through a bush and entered the clearing, panting, bleeding and exhausted. He went over his ankle and made himself as small as possible when his fine ears picked up the sound of the other three werewolves approaching him. They wouldn’t attack him now; Fenrir was within sight. They always made sure, Fenrir didn’t notice what was going on between them and Harry, and he wanted to take that as a good sign, wanted to believe that if Fenrir knew, he would protect Harry and put an end to their attacks. He never quite managed, but that was all right Fenrir would never find out.

They stepped over him, but barely deigned him a look. Harry breathed a sigh of relief, cautiously nudging his side to inspect the damage. His fur was coated with blood and his ankle was swollen. The cut on his nose made blood run into his mouth. He almost gagged.

Fenrir howled questioningly, jogging towards Harry when he got no reply. Something seemed to be wrong, but he couldn’t tell what exactly. And where had Harry been? He had reacquainted himself with Maya and checked the borders of his territory with Bryan and when he had come back, Harry had been nowhere in sight. But neither had most of the others, so he wasn’t too worried. They were likely showing Harry around.

There was a strange smell in the air that made his blood stir. The scent of hunting. When he approached, Harry growled testily at him, barring his teeth in a clear warning. Don’t come any closer!

What had he done now? Fenrir almost groaned. He was beginning to have enough of Harry’s mood swings. He turned around before he could do something he would later regret, leaving Harry to himself, and joined the rest of his pack in their playful fights and competitions.

Harry whimpered, licking over the wound at his side, but gave up soon enough when the taste of blood made him sick. Instead he curled up, burying his nose under his tail. It hurt, not only on the outside but also deep inside. In the morning he would heal himself, hopefully before Remus or Fenrir noticed his damaged state. And then he would learn to defend himself, whether Fenrir liked magic or not.

ö_ö_ö

Harry was sitting cross-legged on the bare ground, some minutes away from where the pack was just waking up. His side still hurt and his ankle throbbed painfully, but a bit of his magic had taken away all the visible damage. A book on defensive spells that Dobby had brought him together with a healthy breakfast and a concerned, wide-eyed gaze at Harry’s state was lying in his lap, and he had his wand - Remus’ wand - in his hand.

It felt strange, not only because it was Remus’ wand that didn’t give of the same warmth, but also because it had been such a long time since he held a wand. It was tugging on his magic, trying to channel it, and he could feel the defiance of his magic at being forced into that small piece of wood. He didn’t like wands anymore. Sometimes, he didn’t even like magic, to be honest, though he admitted that it had its advantages as in this case.

There were few spells, but it wasn’t Harry’s plan to give them all a good show; he simply wanted them to understand that he no longer was easy prey and that they should damn well practise their hunting skills on someone else. And maybe, just maybe their opinion of him would improve marginally if he proved that he wasn’t helpless. Of course, it was much more likely that they’d be even more pissed-off, but Harry was at the end of his tether. At the very least, they would finally have a valid reason to hate him.

He once again read the instructions for the spell that was supposed to shoot a small ray of silver at who ever happened to be in front of his wand. With the muttered incantation and a quick swish of his wand, he did the spell, satisfied with his success. There were two other spells: one to make his own skin painful for them to touch, and the second which would cause a very high whistling noise that would irritate their canine ears.

Harry sighed, closing his eyes to once more think his plan through. He didn’t like the thought of arming against what would be his “new family”, if Fenrir had his way. But he was not about to let himself get scared, to allow them to make him feel small and unworthy. They had brought this onto themselves. He had tolerated their hostility for more than a week, ten days, and there was no sign of them “getting used” to the idea of Harry being here.

But the worst for Harry was really that also their treatment of Remus seemed to worsen as their respect for him dwindled. Remus acted as if he did not notice anything, but Harry knew it was all too obvious and that it hurt his godfather. In their eyes, Remus was a traitor for caring so much about a measly human, a loathsome wizard.

Harry clenched his hands into fists and got up.

“Still here?” A growling voice made him spin around, his wand raised. “We thought you’d finally learned your lesson last night.”

“I can be pretty dense sometimes.” Harry stared up at first Sawyer, who had spoken, and then at Lin, who stood a bit to the side, her low-cut top accentuating her curvy figure. “Leave me alone.”

“Look at this, the wizard is getting demanding,” Lin mocked, and Harry felt himself reminded of Bellatrix Black, the woman who had killed Sirius; he felt anger bubble up in his chest and aimed his wand at them.

“Back off!” he hissed. “I’ve given you enough warnings.”

“Aren’t you a little presumptuous, wizard?” Sawyer growled, lazily pushing away from the tree he had been leaning against. “I think **we** have given **you** enough warnings. It’s time we ended it.”

Harry glared at them, took a step back, squared his shoulders, felt his hands become sweaty. They both lunged at him, he blasted them away with a wave of pure magic, but they barely went down, attacked again. Harry crouched, assuming a fighting stance Moody and other Order members had drilled into him. Lin’s fingernails pierced through his shirt, dug into his shoulder. Harry hissed in pain. Sawyer was suddenly behind him, a fist flew at his temple. He ducked out from between them, swirled around, used one of the spells he had just learned. The ray of silver burnt Sawyer’s side, just gracing Lin’s lower arm. They both howled in pain, prepared to attack again. Harry had enough. He shot the same spell at them again, this time hitting Lin square in the chest so that she stumbled several steps back and then collapsed. The whistling curse helped to distract Sawyer long enough for Harry to send another silver curse at him. It knocked him out.

Harry relaxed, or rather he felt his legs become jelly as all the strength left his body. They were right, he was weak. Pathetic. **Human.** He quickly focused on his anger instead to fight back the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes. **They** had started it. **They** deserved this. He hadn’t done anything to offend them and yet they hadn’t even bothered to give him a chance.

He cautiously approached them, checked for a pulse, performed a spell against the pain. Already their wounds were beginning to heal. Harry felt like crying. They had started it.

Harry picked up his book and shrunk it so it would fit into his pocket, then also pocketed his wand and hastily walked back to the huts, where he hoped to find Fenrir. He wanted a hug, or a kiss, or both.

Fenrir was talking with his Beta, but smiled at Harry when he approached them cautiously. “We can talk about this later. I think we should go hunting tomorrow, but you better check the stores first. Come here, small thing; I missed you yesterday.”

Harry smiled uncertainly at him, but moved to hug him around the waist, burying his head against Fenrir’s bare chest. “I just wasn’t feeling too great.”

“You should have let me take care of you, stupid little wolf,” Fenrir murmured, gently combing his fingers through Harry’s hair, worried when he felt the slight body shiver. “Are you feeling better now?”

“I’m fine,” Harry muttered, pressing closer to Fenrir. “Can you... Could I... Do you have time for me, Fen?”

“Of course, my sweet moonlight.” Fenrir grinned, pressing a kiss to Harry’s neck. “Let’s go.”

“No,” Harry whispered, just loud enough for the werewolf to hear. “I need you to hold me, Fen, please.”

Fenrir startled, trying to catch Harry’s eye, now really worried. “What happened, little white one? What is wrong?”

“I... Just...” Harry shuddered. “I’m-”

“You stupid human!” Harry winced as if slapped by Lin’s loud and shrill voice. “Hiding here and acting as if nothing has happened after attacking us!”

“What is the matter?” Fenrir interrupted her imperatively, staring from the furious she-wolf over to Sawyer, who didn’t look much more amused, down to Harry, who was trembling now. “Sawyer, explain!”

“He cursed us, Alpha!” Sawyer growled, glaring at Harry’s back. “He used magic and silver against us!”

“Harry, is this true?” Fenrir demanded, pushing Harry away from him. “Dammit, talk to me! This is no time to play shy!”

“Yes,” Harry whispered, still refusing to look at Fenrir and instead keeping his eyes focused on the door of one of the newly built huts.

“Why would you do that, you stupid wizard?” Fenrir growled, none of the usual warmth in the words. “Why would you attack my pack?”

“Are you blind, Fenrir, or is it that you just don’t want to see?” Harry demanded, blinking back his tears. “Why don’t you ask your pack what reason I would have to attack them? Why don’t you just put two and two together?”

“I have no mind for your games,” Fenrir retorted. “All I see is that you obviously learned spells just to hurt us.”

“Ask them. Maybe since they decided to involve you, they’d also like to explain to you what exactly their problem is with me,” Harry spat, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’d sure like to know.”

“Our problem is that you attacked us.” Lin sneered at him, still managing to look innocent and clueless. “Without provocation.”

Harry snorted, glancing at Sawyer to see if he at least would admit the truth. He didn’t.

“Harry?!” Fenrir exclaimed, staring incredulously at him. There was disappointment in his eyes, betrayal, a look Harry knew only too well; he winced.

“I’ve had enough, Fen. I just can’t anymore. It was a mistake.”

“A mistake? A mistake? You attack two of my pack and you call it a mistake?” Fenrir demanded, glaring at Harry.

“No, it was a mistake to come here with you. It was a mistake to hope,” Harry said bitterly, turning away. “I’m just a wizard after all. I’m going.”

“I don’t think so, you silly thing,” Fenrir growled, grabbing Harry by the arm. “You can’t just hex someone here and then leave without an explanation, and act like I was doing you a great injustice. I didn’t, if you hadn’t noticed; I helped you and I was considerate and I sacrificed the harmony of my pack, just for you.”

“Then you won’t mind,” Harry stated coldly, shrugging off Fenrir’s hand. “I wouldn’t want to cause you any more trouble. We’re no longer in Azkaban, Fenrir. You don’t need me anymore.”

“Dammit, Harry, what...” Fenrir faltered, when he caught the look in Harry’s eyes.

“Please, take good care of Remus. That’s all I’m asking,” Harry whispered before disapparating, leaving Fenrir to realise his mistake too late.


	5. Forgiveness

Fenrir, time and time again, saw the look of betrayal on Harry’s face. Not betrayal that had come as a surprise, but betrayal that should have been expected, that had been taken as a matter-of-fact. How could he have been so stupid? Sweet, peace-loving Harry, the man who regretted the death of the people who had abused him. How could Harry possibly have harmed his pack with ill intent? It had been self-defence. He finally recognised the scent that had surrounded Harry on the full moon. Blood. Harry’s blood. But why?

“Where did Harry go?” Remus hastened towards them. “What happened? What-?” There was panic in his voice now.

Fenrir felt the familiar urge to protect and comfort one of his pack members well up in him, overriding everything else. Feeling guilty or doubting himself would help no-one. He reached out and pulled Remus against him, growling soothingly into the younger werewolf’s ear, before he turned to the rest of his pack. They had all gathered around him. Good.

“What, pray tell, has induced you to attack my... Harry?” His voice was deceptively calm, and though he had hesitated briefly before saying Harry’s name, none of them dared call him up on it, or even meet his eye. “Well?”

“But he attacked us,” Lin whined, wincing when Fenrir growled.

His eyes flashed yellow and his canines lengthened as he glared at the insolent werewolf. A slap rang through the air, hard, unforgiving and with a furious protectiveness that shocked all of them into silence. Lin whimpered, holding her cheek.

“Do not lie to me!” Fenrir growled dangerously. “I want an explanation and it better be a damn good one.”

“Alpha,” Bryan intervened, hoping to be able to ground the younger man; it wasn’t a safe move to criticise or even question the Alpha when he was in such a mood, but the old werewolf also knew that he was the only one who could possible achieve something.

“Harry was bleeding yesterday.” Fenrir glared. “And he was...” _Upset? Confused? Terrified?_ “He came to me for protection, and you made me believe that he had done something wrong! Why? What has he done to you? What could he possibly have done?!”

His voice rose, his hands clenched in anger, his eyes blazing. They kept silent, no one willing to risk his wrath by answering. Remus’ quiet voice broke the silence. He shivered and Fenrir only then realised that he had reflexively replaced his arm around the other werewolf’s shoulder after he had slapped Lin.

“Where’s my cub? Alpha, please, we have to find him, please.” Fenrir sighed, butting his nose against Remus’ temple.

“Don’t worry, Remus.” For the first time, the other werewolf’s name rolled easily from his tongue. “We’ll get him back. I’ll get him back. Where could he have gone to?”

“I don’t know. He could have apparated anywhere,” Remus’ voice shook with desperation. “He’ll do something stupid.”

“No, Remus, I won’t allow it. I’ll find him before he hurts himself,” Fenrir murmured. “Now take a deep breath and then tell me where you think Harry is.”

Remus inhaled, closing his eyes and then exhaled slowly. “Hogwarts. It’s a place he always felt safe, where he can be alone. He would go there to calm down.”

“He was calm,” Fenrir argued. _Too calm._

But Remus shook his head. “Forgive me, Alpha, but I don’t think so. He wouldn’t be calm after being attacked, or having to attack them. He wouldn’t be.”

“He sure was able to tell me that we were done in a rather collected manner,” Fenrir muttered more to himself than to Remus. “But alright, Hogwarts. Sawyer, you’re coming with me. The rest of you will stay here and think about what you have done and how to apologise to Harry.”

“Alpha?” Remus asked nervously. “Can’t I come with you? Harry’s my cub.”

Fenrir couldn’t suppress the growl at the use of the possessive pronoun, and Remus shied a step back, whimpering in submission. “Cub, I want you to stay here so that Harry has a reason to come back. Besides, you have nothing to apologise for. Sawyer, on the other hand...”

“But, Alpha, what about me?” Lin dared to ask. “Shouldn’t I come with you?” There was a hint of hopefulness in her voice, and Fenrir glared at her.

“You will need a lot more time to think about what you did and come up with a good apology,” Fenrir growled dangerously. “Now out of my sight, you egocentrical whelp.”

Lin whimpered and ducked away, and Fenrir took a deep breath to keep his cool.

“I will get Harry back.” He squeezed Remus’ shoulder reassuringly.

“But I could apparate us,” Remus pointed out nervously. “It would be much quicker.”

Fenrir grimaced at the mention of wizarding magic, something he was still suspicious of and wanted to keep as far away from his pack as possible. “Harry will want some time to calm down, as you pointed out, Remus. I doubt he wants to see me right now.”

“But-”

“Enough, cub,” Fenrir interrupted him firmly. “I promise to bring Harry back here, safe and sound, and that’s all you need to know.”

“Yes, Alpha.” Remus sighed softly, lowering his eyes.

He was surprised when he felt Fenrir tip his chin to make him look up. “I care very much about Harry, and I care about my pack. That means you, too.”

“Thank you, Alpha.” Remus smiled, still a bit uncertain, but mostly reassured.

Fenrir grunted, squeezed Remus’ shoulder once more and then pushed him gently away from himself, before turning to Sawyer. “Be ready in ten minutes.”

“Yes, Alpha.” Sawyer inclined his head, keeping it down until Fenrir had turned away. Showing something other than absolute submission to the Alpha when he was already angry with you was not the wisest move. He had learnt to know better.

ö_ö_ö

They travelled in silence, their tall figures moving swiftly and silently through forests and over fields. It was a long way, and the sun was replaced by the moon, who caressed their backs and illuminated their way with her silver light, and then returned before Hogwarts came into view. Fenrir hadn’t stopped once, but he didn’t feel exhausted, only nervous. What would Harry say? Would he even listen to him? What if...? He hastily shook his head to get rid of those thoughts. Harry was fine, just fine, a bit upset, a bit angry, but otherwise he was fine. He was fine.

He glanced at Sawyer, who was breathing heavily, bowed over, his hands on his thighs to support himself. He had been harsh on him, hardly saying a word and never one that wasn’t absolutely necessary, but he couldn’t forgive Sawyer as long as Harry had not forgiven him and the others. It wasn’t his place to grant them forgiveness, and Fenrir was intent to show Harry that despite everything, he was on his side. He needed to know that Harry was okay.

He turned back to the imposing castle in front of them. It looked dark, deserted, not at all welcoming or homey. One of the towers was in ruins, the entrance doors hang askew, some bricks were missing from the walls which also bore scorch marks. This wasn’t a school, it was a battleground.

Fenrir could think of quite a few better places to calm down in and he doubted that he would find Harry here. But one look at Sawyer told him that they both needed to rest, and he decided that he might as well have a look around.

“Stay here,” he murmured and then strode up to the castle, relying on his enhanced senses to warn him of danger.

But there was no danger; there was simply nothing, except for cobwebs and woodlice. No Harry. The smell of death and sadness was in the air, and he quickly fled the castle because it reminded him far too much of Azkaban.

Sawyer had kindled a small fire and was gloomily stoking the flames with a twig. He stopped immediately when Fenrir approached, making room for his Alpha near the fire. He chanced a quick look at Fenrir’s sullen face, surprised to find his gaze locked in golden eyes.

“Will you at least tell me the truth?” Fenrir’s voice was a soft growl. “You attacked him, and Harry defended himself.”

It wasn’t a question, but Sawyer nodded nonetheless, avoiding Fenrir’s piercing stare. “During the full moon, in the woods. Lin and I... and Chetan.” He named the third culprit with obvious reluctance and continued quickly as if he hoped that Fenrir might have missed his confession. “This morning, Lin and I sought him out again, but he was prepared.”

He left it at that, knowing that Fenrir would be able to fill in the gaps without him having to admit to his mistake in all its glory.

“Why?”

Sawyer tried to escape the accusing stare, but couldn’t. “He wasn’t good for the pack,” he finally whispered. “You’ve been away so long, and now he’s taken you away from us again. He’s too needy; he doesn’t fit in. He’s human.”

A growl interrupted him and he ducked his head. “I realise that he helped you in that place, but you no longer need to content yourself with second-best. You have us now.” There was an urgency in his tone that made Fenrir’s stomach clench.

“You have not even given Harry a chance, have you? If you had talked to him once, just once, you would know that he’s the very opposite of needy or second-best. He’s not a regular human,” Fenrir said with emphasis, willing the other werewolf to believe him. “And even if that were not the case, you had no reason nor right to attack him behind my back. Why did you not talk to me about your unfounded concerns?”

“I thought... We thought that he wasn’t worth bothering you. We thought you’d grow tired of him soon enough. We only wanted to help the process along,” Sawyer confessed. “We expected hat you’d grow tired of his complaints-”

“Harry didn’t once complain about you,” Fenrir growled at him, wishing desperately that Harry had done so - but of course he was aware that wishing Harry would actually admit to needing help was about as fruitful as wishing the sun would rise in the west. “That sure speaks of how needy he is, doesn’t it?”

“He had no reason to be needy,” Sawyer grumbled unwillingly. “You’ve spent so much time with him-”

“Are you saying I neglected you?” Fenrir demanded dangerously. “That I ignored my duties as Alpha?” But maybe he had. Not in regards to Sawyer and the others, but almost certainly in regards to Harry. He shouldn’t have **needed** to be told that Harry was in trouble. He should have noticed. He should have pushed and prodded, until Harry would have spilled the truth. He should have kept Harry close, taken the time to introduce him to the pack and show them what a wonderful little thing Harry was. But he hadn’t.

“No, Alpha,” the black-haired werewolf assured him quickly, interrupting his agonising thoughts. “I know that you went hunting with Chetan to assure him that you were really back, and that you helped Maya to care for Bryan when he had that cough, and that you talked with Remus and welcomed him to the pack. I know you took the time to reacquaint with all of us, individually and as a group.”

“But?”

“But he always takes you away, forces you to spend time with him alone,” Sawyer pointed out carefully. “He doesn’t want to be a part of the pack; he’s only interested in you.”

Fenrir had to fight the self-satisfied smirk that threatened to spread over his rough face. Harry better be only interested in him.

“You misunderstood something,” he murmured lowly. “It was not Harry, who wanted to be alone; it was my doing. As I’m sure you have guessed what we were doing was quite private.”

Sawyer turned his head away in embarrassment. “I understand, Alpha. But... Why? What does he give you?”

“You’re old enough, Sawyer, I’m sure I don’t have to spell it out for you, do I?” Fenrir questioned in amusement, losing the battle against the smirk that now revealed his gleaming teeth. “I find him very entertaining.”

“Entertaining, Alpha?” Sawyer asked sceptically, and Fenrir growled.

“Make no mistake: I care greatly about the little tyke. I found him to be a compassionate, intelligent and selfless person with none of the flaws of the wizard race. He’ll be good for the pack.” He stared into Sawyer’s eyes until the younger werewolf nodded grudgingly. “Very well, sleep now. We have a long journey ahead of us tomorrow.”

Sawyer grunted in agreement then carefully skidded closer to his Alpha, seeking protection and comfort he was immediately granted as Fenrir gruffly pulled him into his arms and nipped his throat.

ö_ö_ö

His feet were cold and his clothes were clammy when he finally reached the looming castle Voldemort had claimed as his headquarters. He passed the guards without a thought; he wouldn’t have minded if they had killed him on sight, but obviously Voldemort had informed them of his plans for Harry. The corridors were dark and draughty, barren of any portraits or other decorations and void of people. A part of Harry just wanted to curl up in a corner and cry, but a bigger part of him wanted to protect himself, wanted to keep his privacy, was afraid to show weakness where someone might see. Thus, he searched for the room he had previously stayed in, glad when he still found it unoccupied and ready to use.

He locked the door behind him, kicked of his shoes and threw himself onto the bed, his face buried in the pillows. But now the tears wouldn’t come. He felt strangely empty; maybe it would have worried him some other time. He just lay there, thinking of nothing, doing nothing, feeling nothing. It was almost as if he didn’t exist anymore; he felt no loss at the thought. No attachment to himself.

A soft plop and a shy clearing of a throat made him turn his head to the side and stare blearily at the unfamiliar house-elf. “Sleazy is sorry, but Master Lord Voldemort asks Master Potter to come to the Throne Room for an audience. Master Lord Voldemort asks him to come now.”

“Why don’t you ask him to go fuck himself?” Harry was surprised at how hoarse his voice had become.

The house-elf whimpered, and Harry sighed. “Fine, I’m getting up. Tell him that... You know what, forget it, I’ll tell him myself.”

“Yes, Master Potter.” Sleazy bowed deeply and then plopped away, leaving Harry to curse under his breath, not because he was so annoyed - he still felt numb - but because he thought it was something he normally would have done.

He punched his pillow, imagining Sawyer’s smug face. Then he got up, smoothed out his clothes and ran his hand through his damp hair. This was all the courtesy Voldemort could expect. When he stepped out of his rooms, he briefly wondered how he was supposed to find the so-called Throne Room, but then decided that he didn’t much care and just chose to go left at random. He didn’t expect Sleazy to pop up and almost bodily drag him in the other direction.

“Ah, Harry Potter.” Voldemort was lounging in a large armchair with a high backrest, his pale face almost ghostly in the dim light. “I almost thought you would need more convincing to make an appearance.”

“What do you want, Voldemort?” Harry had planned to sound angry, but he only sounded tired. “I haven’t changed my mind.”

“A pity, really, and yet you have returned to my lair,” Voldemort returned. “Surely, that will permit me to hope?”

“I don’t care what you hope. What do you want?” Harry repeated, tapping his foot and feeling his wet sock squish in his shoe.

“Always so impolite,” Voldemort mocked. “I thought perhaps I had found a way to convince you to accept the position as my heir. Are you interested now, young Potter?”

“No, dammit.” Harry glared, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m not interested.”

“I thought you might say that.” Voldemort smirked, waving with his hand as if to draw away a curtain.

Harry gasped, taking an involuntary step forward.

“You see, I was hoping you would help me to decide what I should do with him, but I see that you’re busy...”

“What have you done?” Harry whispered. “I told you-”

“A mistake, if I do say so myself,” Voldemort offered, running his long, spidery fingers through Travers’ sweaty hair, who lay shivering to his feet. “I’m a Slytherin, Harry Potter, as you well know. You should not have told me of your weakness.”

Harry’s eyes darkened in anger, the magic becoming almost palpable around him. “I assumed you would be trying to get on my good side, Voldemort. I see you have decided otherwise.”

“Not at first, Harry Potter. The problem is that Travers here thought he could murder my Death Eaters and get away with it. I couldn’t leave him under that illusion, now could I, Travers?”

“No, my Lord,” Travers whispered, shuddering away from Voldemort’s touch.

“Voldemort,” Harry’s voice took on a pleading edge. “You had your fun, let him go.”

“I could do that, or I could make an example of him, what do you think, Lucius?”

Harry swivelled around to stare at the blond Death Eater, who had just entered the room with his son in tow. Harry’s glare didn’t faze them in the least.

“Traitors are killed,” Lucius stated, not even batting an eyelash, though his son’s head jerked up. “Painfully.”

“We’ll see about that,” Harry hissed.

In a split second, he had moved behind the younger Malfoy, pressing Remus’ wand to the hollow of his throat, while twisting Draco’s arm behind his back.

“Impressive,” Voldemort mused. “But I’m afraid this does not change anything. I’m not inclined to trade young Mr. Malfoy’s life for your friend here.”

“You might not,” Harry agreed. “But I’m sure a father’s love exists even among Death Eaters. Malfoy, get Travers out of here or your son dies.”

Voldemort levelled his wand on Lucius. “Move and you die... Now, Potter, is it more likely that I will go through with my threat or that you do?”

“Do you know how often the Order had me practise the Killing Curse, Malfoy? I’m sure Snape must have told you by now that I’ve become quite apt at it... And maybe you should also consider that your son is a snivelling, obnoxious, self-centred, arrogant brat – I really wouldn’t miss him. Get Travers!” Harry ordered, shifting his hold on the young Malfoy heir just so that the older blond had a perfect view on the wand aiming at his son’s carotid.

Lucius took a hesitating step forward - and Voldemort laughed, lowering his wand. “Very well, young Potter, this round goes to you. You can have Travers.”

Harry didn’t release Draco from his hold, and Voldemort raised one brow.

“You never should make the same mistake twice,” Harry said coldly. “I want a vow on your magic that you’ll leave my friends and family alone from now on, no matter what.”

Voldemort smirked appreciatively, but he spoke the vow and then motioned for Travers to get up. “You can consider yourself lucky Potter has taken a liking to you, Travers.”

“Oh, shut up, Voldemort. It’s not as if those killed Death Eaters were a great loss,” Harry interrupted, pushing Draco away from himself. “You’ll have a lot new followers soon anyway.”

“From the Light side? I’m afraid most of them were reluctant to join me so that I had to dispose of them,” Voldemort offered without much interest.

Harry stared at him in disbelief. “Didn’t you give them time to consider? Showed them the advantages of joining? How many did you kill? Did you leave anyone alive?!”

“I did not kill them all. It’s rather tiresome to speak so many Killing Curses, as you should know if your previous claim is to be believed,” Voldemort said. “I relegated that task to some of the lower Death Eaters. They should be about halfway through by now.”

Harry closed his eyes, his hands beginning to shake. “I’ll never join you. Your cruelty and heartlessness makes me sick.”

“As for me, your continued **goodness** makes me question your sanity.” Voldemort sneered. “You still care about the people who betrayed you.”

“Who else have I to care about?” Harry demanded. “I won’t end like you.”

“Indeed, that would be inconceivable. Lucius, tell them to put the prisoners back into their cells. I’ll decide what to do with them tomorrow,” Voldemort dismissed the two Malfoys before turning once more to Harry. “So what do you plan to do with Travers. You will understand, of course, that I cannot tolerate anymore dead Death Eaters.”

“I wonder how you can tolerate them alive,” Harry muttered, but looked at Travers in question; the grey-haired man was still trembling, his shoulders hunched and his eyes lowered to the ground. “I need someone to protect me while I’m here.”

“Because you cannot look after yourself, I take it,” Voldemort mocked, but gave a sharp nod. “Very well, Travers shall be your bodyguard and you will make sure that no more Death Eaters get into accidents with his wand, Potter.”

“Sure,” Harry replied acidly, before turning around. He once more looked over his shoulder. “Just why is it that it’s completely okay for you to kill innocent or remotely innocent people, but if someone kills one of your precious Death Eaters it bothers you so?”

Harry wanted to take Travers by the arm, but the Death Eater shied away from his touch and almost fled the room in front of him. Harry’s throat tightened. He closed the great double doors behind them, quickly performing a Privacy Charm when he noticed tears pouring from Travers’ eyes as he sank down in a corner.

“Mr. Travers... David, I’m sorry.” Harry approached him carefully, but didn’t dare touch the crying man. “I’m sorry I didn’t protect you.”

Travers didn’t react, curled up tightly in the dark corner, making himself as small as possible. Harry felt helplessness well up inside him, but then morphed into his Animagus form and nudged Travers, whimpering and yipping softly, until Travers wrapped his arms around his neck, clinging to him and sobbing into his fur. Harry pressed as close as possible, licking over Travers’ cheek from time to time or nudging his nose against his chin.

Gradually, Travers sobs subsided to hiccoughs and he loosened the death grip he had on Harry’s fur, his touch turning into pats and strokes. He uncurled a little and pulled the white wolf against his body like a furry, breathing protective wall between him and the rest of the world. Harry thought he understood how Travers felt: The fear of being touched, of being hurt again warring with the fear of being alone, being left in the darkness around them. Harry, the wolf, was the perfect compromise.

Travers didn’t look at Harry, nor did he speak, and when he finally had calmed completely, his face closed off, his haunted eyes the only thing betraying his broken soul. He pushed Harry away from him, not angrily but with determination, drew his wand and spoke a charm to uncrease his clothes and get rid of the dried tear tracks on his face. He stood up, straightened his shoulders.

“Come, little Patronus.” His voice sounded like always: a little hoarse, a little rough, but controlled and confident. “We can talk in my rooms.”

Harry hesitated, not knowing if Travers was ready yet to face him in his human form, but then decided against changing and just gathered his clothes in his mouth and caught up with the Death Eater, walking next to him like a well-trained dog. Travers’ hand landed on his neck.

“There are still two left,” Travers said, almost as soon as the door to his rooms had fallen shut behind them. “I’m not going to stop now, Patronus. If this means my death, I’d probably welcome it.”

Harry changed back into his human form and slipped into his old coveralls, never taking his eyes of Travers’ back. “I won’t condone your actions, nor will I support you in your plans. But I plan to protect you, no matter what, and that also means not letting you die before your time.”

“Why is it that you’ve decided to play my personal guardian angel?” Travers sounded more curious than anything. “Is it pity? The wish to reform me? Or do you merely want to antagonise the Dark Lord?”

“Yes, I pity you,” Harry answered evenly. “I pity you because you live only for your revenge; everything else is swallowed by fear. How could I not pity you?”

“I guess only Death Eaters care so little about others,” Travers replied, walking over to the liquor cabinet, which was amply equipped.

“No, the Light side only hides their disregard for others’ wellbeing better,” Harry argued bitterly. “May I sit?”

“Go ahead.” Travers motioned negligently to the battered, greyish sofa that stood in the middle of the room. “Firewhiskey?”

Harry mutely shook his head, letting his eyes wander over the rather comfortless room. The furnishing was all worn and old, grey or brown or undistinguishable. There was the sofa, and Harry felt the springs press into his back and bottom, the liquor cabinet - Travers drank down a glass of firewhiskey in one gulp - a simple wooden desk and an uncomfortable-looking chair. The room itself was spacious, the view from the windows rather brilliant and the carpet a dark forest-green, but there were no personal items, no photos, no trinkets, not even books. It was barren.

“I don’t have any illusions,” Travers murmured. “I don’t warrant anyone’s pity or sympathy, Potter. I probably deserved everything that happened, but so do they. They deserve to die.”

“No-one deserves what you went through,” Harry answered forcefully. “It’s something I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. They acted like cowards - disgusting, perverted, low-life cowards, and whatever you did, you did not deserve to be raped.”

“And yet, you don’t want me to kill them,” Travers stated, pouring himself another drink.

“I don’t think it’ll achieve anything. Killing them won’t make you feel better. It won’t help you to forget and you also take away your chance to forgive them,” Harry replied. “Do you feel better, Mr. Travers? Now that only two are left, do you feel safer? Do you really think punishing them, making them pay will ease your fear, help you heal?”

“No,” Travers answered without hesitation. “Killing them, torturing them, seeing them breathe their last breath, won’t help me, except for giving me the satisfaction of knowing that in their last moments they regretted what they did to me. And for the one moment when I see the fear in their eyes-” He closed his own eyes to savour the image. “-I can forget about my own fear. That’s what I live for now, not for healing and certainly not for **forgiveness**.” He spat the last word as if it was something foul and poisonous. “I don’t expect anyone to forgive me for what I have done; I don’t seek absolution from the families of those I have killed and tortured. If they want to hate me, they’re welcome to; if they want to take their revenge, they can try; and if they feel the need to forgive me, by all means. But I will never forgive those, who – I will never forgive them! I don’t care about justice and I don’t care about what’s left of my soul! I want revenge; I want them to burn in hell for all eternity; I want them to suffer; I want to hear them beg just to laugh in their faces like they laughed into mine. And if I believed in reincarnation, I would hunt them down and kill them over and over again until they would dread being reborn as much as I dread the nightmares and the memories.”

Harry sighed, bowing his head. “I wish I had something to say, something to convince you, but I don’t, because in a horrifying way I can completely understand your point, and I almost agree. Maybe I would think so as well, be like this.”

“I don’t think so, little Patronus.” Travers grimaced, rising his glass as if to toast Harry. “From what I’ve heard, you had enough reasons to turn bitter and dark and evil, like me, but you never took the offer. You’re here now.”

Harry looked up at him, not sure if the last words had been spoken in annoyance or something else, then he sighed. “Just promise me one thing?”

“What would that be?”

“That you’ll let me find another way for you to live without fear, once they’re all dead,” Harry said, pushing up from the sofa and extending one hand.

Travers took a step back, keeping himself out of Harry’s reach. “Deal, Potter.”

Harry smiled disarmingly at him, also taking a step back and crossing his arms behind his back to signal that he meant no harm and wouldn’t come closer. “Would you feel better if I changed into my wolf form?”

“You intend to stay? Here?” Travers sounded surprised and suspicious; he didn’t relax.

“Well, of course.” Harry shrugged. “At least for a couple of hours. You don’t really expect me to leave you all alone now, do you? You’d rush out to kill one of them, without a plan, without any form of preparation and most likely get yourself killed in the process or attract Voldemort’s wrath again. And as much as I love annoying the pompous bastard, once a day is more than enough, thank you very much.”

“So you want to stay to make sure that I think off a plan to kill them?” Travers asked before grimacing again. “Wolf form will be fine with me.”

“Great.” Harry transformed smoothly and trotted to a nice spot of carpet near the sofa.

Travers relaxed almost instantly, put down his glass of firewhiskey and after he had got some papers out of his desk, he took a seat on the sofa, patting the spot next to him. Harry perked up and jumped on the sofa with a wolfish grin, resting his head lightly on Travers’ thigh. He was relieved when the Death Eater just began to gently scratch him behind his ear and showed no sign of discomfort.


	6. Closure

Harry felt the tingling in his scar moments before Sleazy popped into Travers’ room, causing the slender man to wince and clench his hands in Harry’s fur. Harry whimpered, _that hurt_.

“Master Lord Voldemort wants Master Potter to the Throne Room,” Sleazy informed them with a bow before staring at Travers with confused light-bulb eyes. “Master Potter is not here?”

“He’s in the bathroom. I’ll tell him.” Travers waved dismissively with his hand as the house-elf hesitated. “Go.”

Sleazy disappeared with a squeak of apology, and Harry tugged free of Travers’ hold, licking over his cheek, before he jumped from the sofa, stretched and then turned back into human form. “I guess I should go then. You don’t want to come with me, I assume?”

“No, I can do without it,” Travers stated. “And you don’t have to worry; I had enough time to think about a plan.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow then.” Harry nodded and gathered his clothes “You know where my rooms are? For emergencies?”

“You mean if I have a nightmare?” Travers mocked, and Harry scowled at him.

“For example, yes. I don’t take helping you lightly, Mr. Travers.”

“I’ll have to get used to that, I guess,” Travers answered with a grimace. “I know where your rooms are, don’t worry.”

“Good, I expect you to make use of that knowledge, too,” Harry said decisively before swiftly getting dressed and then making his way to Voldemort.

When he entered the Throne Room this time, Voldemort was conversing quietly with the two Malfoys, and he motioned Harry closer.

“I thought it would be a thoughtful gesture to once again provide you with a hostage.” He smirked and nodded towards the younger blond, whose head snapped up in clear disbelief.

“And you wonder why no-one wants to join you?” Harry snorted. “You don’t treat your followers any better than your enemies.”

“I’m wounded, Potter. I leave them alive, surely that counts for something,” Voldemort argued, patting Malfoy junior on the back in a strangely fatherly gesture; Harry felt like throwing up, or crying, or both.

“I’m tired of this game, Voldemort.”

“Indeed. Right down to business, shall we?” Voldemort expectantly held his hand out to the older Malfoy, who handed him a scroll. “Lucius compiled a list of the prisoners who are still alive. Perhaps you would like to have a look at it and tell me who I can kill without offending your sensibilities.”

“I’m not going to pass a death sentence on any of them,” Harry protested, not taking the scroll.

“Then I guess I will have to kill them all. I cannot be bothered to waste any more time on this matter,” Voldemort returned evenly, making to incinerate the scroll. “Now, onto something else-”

“Give me that damned scroll, and you better heed my decision or you’re going to wish you’d have been born with dragon-hide skin,” Harry demanded angrily, knowing that his threat didn’t make up for the fact that he was playing right into Voldemort’s hands.

“If you insist.” Voldemort smirked. “But I have to remind you that I only have about twenty, twenty-five places at the most available in my ranks.”

“Go kill yourself and save us all the trouble, why don’t you?” Harry muttered, intending to leave the hall as soon as possible.

“Interesting suggestion, don’t you think so, Lucius?” Voldemort asked, locking the doors with his wand. “Young Mr. Potter always has such ingenious ideas.”

“My Lord, Mr. Potter also has the habit of not thinking things through,” Lucius answered respectfully, and Harry snorted.

“Someone really should tell him that he might catch a disease by licking your boots, Voldemort.” Harry crossed his arms over his chest. “I thought we were finished.”

“I hoped you would join me for dinner,” Voldemort answered, but it was clearly not a request.

“What, two yes-men not enough to keep you entertained?” Harry scoffed, feeling vindicated when a scowl appeared on Lucius’ face and a sneer on Draco’s.

“I perceive a bit of hostility, Potter. I wonder why that is the case, seeing as we have been on so amiable terms lately. Frankly, I had expected a bit more appreciation for bringing along your early prison release.”

Harry glared at him, glared at the two Malfoys in turn, then back at Voldemort. “You were the reason I was in there in the first place! You framed me for murder. Tell me, who did you order to kill the Dursleys?”

“The Dursleys?” Voldemort raised an eyebrow. “I do not recall that name, should I?”

“My relatives,” Harry hissed, clenching his hands into fists. “My uncle, my aunt and my cousin, murdered and tortured in their own house until they died a wretched death, just to give the Ministry a reason to throw me into Azkaban. Does that ring a bell, you bastard?”

“Now, now, Potter, no need to become insulting,” Voldemort returned. “In fact, your hatred, as impressive as it may be, is rather off target. I did not order their deaths.”

“Liar!” Harry pressed out, his eyes spitting fiery rays of anger at the Dark Lord. “Who else would have been so cruel, who else would have had a reason to do it?”

“So naive. I assume the Ministry-”

“May have been corrupt and incompetent, but they wouldn’t have tortured with so many different and obscure Dark spells,” Harry interrupted. “They use the Cruciatus Curse and maybe one or two others. Not this...” Harry bit his lip to keep himself from bursting into tears as he remembered Aunt Petunia’s mangled body, the intestines that spilled from his uncle’s stomach, Dudley’s pained gasps.

“A valid thesis,” Voldemort admitted. “Though, I’m afraid that the fact remains that I cannot, in all conscience, take credit for their deaths.”

Harry stared at him, locking his gaze to the ruby eyes gazing back at him with the utmost calm. Defeated, he turned away. Voldemort spoke the truth.

“Who killed them? I want to know,” he whispered, although, maybe he didn’t. What good would it do to poke at old, barely healed wounds until they started bleeding again? Would it make him feel better if he had someone to blame? He doubted it. And what would he do with the truth? Go on a hunt for revenge like Travers? Practise forgiveness even though he would never be able to forgive himself? And justice? What kind of justice could anyone expect from Voldemort’s regime? It was stupid. It was laughable. And he really should have thought about this before going to Voldemort and self-righteously demanding to be informed about what had really happened.

“That shall be no problem,” Voldemort offered generously, and Harry clenched his hands into the too long sleeves of the sweater Dobby had brought him because otherwise he might have just started to throw hexes. “Would you like a name, or rather a head?”

Harry was still too confused and too preoccupied with keeping his irrational anger in check to react to the provocation in Voldemort’s question. “A name or the person, alive.”

“Very well.” Voldemort inclined his head.

“Should I make some inquiries, my Lord?” Lucius asked.

“See what you can find out, yes,” Voldemort ordered. “McNair can help you and take Pettigrew with you.”

A look of disgust flickered over the blond’s face, and he glanced at Harry, almost hopefully, who merely returned the look with vague disinterest. “I don’t care about that rat. Killing him would only relieve him of this life he so desperately clings to that he doesn’t notice how miserable it is. He’ll die soon enough.”

Draco snorted, attracting everyone’s attention. “You’ve always been weird, Potter, but Azkaban really screwed with your brain.”

“Oh, wow, you can talk,” Harry commented, rolling his eyes. “Not that you use that ability very well, but you know, one step up away from being a beast.”

“And what about your beasts, Potter?” Draco sneered. “Where have you left them? Already tired of playing whore?”

“We can’t all be as enduring as you, Malfoy,” Harry gave back sweetly, though the comment had hurt. Wasn’t that how everyone saw him, including Fenrir’s pack? Their Alpha’s whore, his plaything, something to be disposed of when fucking him lost its appeal. And hadn’t he wanted it like that? No strings attached, no responsibility, just harmless fun, meaningless sex. He had ruined everything, had made sure they had never had a future, and Fenrir’ pack had merely cut short the present.

“The spirit of youth, always something to be admired.” Voldemort smirked at Lucius. “I’m sure your son will be able to keep our guest entertained while we discuss some things. Then we may eat.”

“I’m not hungry. Just tell me when you know the murderer.” Harry glared at the Dark Lord for good measure before leaving the room. He felt drained and angry and helpless.

ö_ö_ö

Harry sighed sadly as Travers once again avoided the damp towel he had wanted to press to his shoulder to clean his injury.

“I know you don’t want me to touch you, but that wound needs to be cleaned,” he reasoned gently. “I’m not good enough with Healing Charms, and you won’t let me get a healer. What am I supposed to do with you, hm?”

“Just leave me alone,” Travers returned, staring at him warily. “I’ll be fine.”

“Of course, you look like it,” Harry muttered sarcastically, with a pointed look at Travers’ blood-soaked robes that lay over the back of the sofa and then at the deep gash on his shoulder. “Come on, I’m still your Patronus, I wouldn’t hurt you.”

“I can’t,” Travers pleaded stubbornly, and Harry sighed.

“The wound will become infected if we don’t clean it,” Harry argued. “Can you try to clean it yourself?”

Relief flickered over the Death Eater’s face, and he hesitantly reached out for the towel, making sure to avoid touching Harry. He winced as the movement made pain shoot from his wound over his shoulder and back, but pressed his teeth together and awkwardly wiped away the worst of the blood and dirt coating the wound.

He silently cursed at the pain and his own stupidity. It had been easy enough to kill the second to last of his tormentors, though it had not been an easy death for the other man. He grinned in satisfaction when he remembered the look of sheer horror that had decorated the bloodied face before he had spoken the Killing Curse.

But then, elated with his victory, he had missed a step and tumbled down a slope and hit his shoulder against a sharply edged rock. He supposed that he had to be grateful nothing had been broken.

“Here, spread the healing balm over your shoulder.” Harry handed him a small jar and reached for the bandages. “I think I can dress your wound with magic, Mr. Travers. May I?”

Travers nodded, but tensed when Harry drew his wand and commanded the bandages to wrap over the shoulder wound tight enough to stop the bleeding, but not so much as to hurt him.

The older man carefully rolled his shoulder, relieved when the pain was bearable, and slid into his shirt again, slowly buttoning it up while keeping an eye on Harry.

“Will you stay the night?” he asked finally. “To make sure I don’t do something stupid?”

Harry smiled gently at him, noticing the veiled request. He put the first aid materials he had used away and then changed into his wolf form, happily allowing the Death Eater to pat him.

“You can call me David, if you want to,” the grey-haired man murmured. “or Travers, the Mr. is completely wasted on me, in any event.”

Harry yipped in reply, swiping his tongue over Travers’, David’s cheek.

“Grey is still alive,” David continued, scratching the white wolf behind his ear. “I’ll get him tomorrow.”

Harry growled in warning, shaking his head and nudging David’s injured shoulder.

David hissed in pain. “Fine, maybe I’ll wait a day or two. That way he won’t know when to expect me, and he’ll be afraid, always looking over his shoulder for danger, not being able to sleep, jumping at the slightest noise...”

Harry snuggled close to the older man, who wrapped his good arm around Harry’s neck, relaxing. Soon his revenge would be complete. What would he do then?

ö_ö_ö

David’s sleep wasn’t peaceful or restive. He was haunted by nightmares and memories, by ghostlike touches on his skin, phantom pain. He startled awake with an inhuman cry of despair and horror, shuddering and sobbing and begging for them to stop. The white wolf in his arms, soothingly licking his cheek and sharing his warmth, helped a little, assured him that he was not alone, that there was something between him and them, but he didn’t dare close his eyes again.

Harry could sense the helplessness, the fear and the self-loathing that enclosed David like a cloak, choking him. He wasn’t sure how to help the picture of misery that clung so desperately to his fur. This wasn’t the same man who had killed dozens of men in cold blood, both on Voldemort’s orders and to take his revenge. His strength and defiance had melted away in the darkness of the night, and it was hard to believe that the tortured man had even managed to build up his mask once, let alone that he would do so again, come morning.

Harry touched his cold snout to David’s nose, snuggling even closer when the older man whimpered and started to cry silently, his tears seeping into Harry’s fur. It was a time before he calmed down, his vice-like grip on Harry turning into patting, his sobs into whispers and murmurs. A mixture of fear, disgust and sheer horror ran through Harry at all the atrocious details David revealed, at all the slender man had gone through merely because of the cruelty and perversion of the other prisoners.

“Thanks for listening, Patronus,” the Death Eater murmured finally, pushing Harry away from him to get up.

He reached for his wand, and after a muttered incantation, the room was flooded with light. He looked haggard and worn, but surprisingly collected as he turned back to face Harry, who had changed back into his human form.

“You’re not very intimidating,” David stated. “It’s easy to talk to you.”

Harry grinned. “Thank you, I’ll take that as a compliment. Anything I can do?”

“If you want to keep me company.” David shrugged carelessly. “I won’t be able to sleep now.”

“Chess?” Harry offered, absently running a hand through his wild hair. “Though, I’m afraid I’m not very good.”

“Doesn’t matter,” David murmured. “I think I have a set, somewhere. I’ll look for it while you get dressed.”

“Okay, sorry,” Harry agreed, only then noticing that the transformation had left him naked; he was surprised David had taken it with such calm, apparently, he really wasn’t very threatening.

While they set up the chess board and made their first moves, Harry’s thoughts strayed to Fenrir, who had protected him from suffering the same fate as David. Fenrir, who had been gruff and demanding and arrogant and accusing, but had also kept him warm, talked him out of his nightmares and made him feel again. Now he felt hurt and disappointed. He bit his lip when David’s rook smashed one of his knights. That part of his life was over. Fenrir would be better off without him, and Remus would be taken care of.


	7. Family

“It’s strange to meet someone who really cares,” David muttered, wiping the blood from his hands. “I don’t really know what to do with you, Harry.”

“The feeling is quite mutual,” Harry answered softly. “I want to help you, but I really don’t know how.”

“You’re already helping.” David shrugged, grimacing at the black-haired young man. “You care... And you make for a good pet.”

“Ha ha.” Harry rolled his eyes. “You make for a nice pillow... Want to go for a walk? I’m suffocating in here.”

David looked doubtful for a moment, but then nodded in agreement, reaching for a heavy winter cloak. “Do you need one as well?”

“Yeah, that would be great, thanks,” Harry replied.

Their fingers brushed lightly when David handed him a second, more worn cloak, and Harry looked up at him nervously, expecting an adverse reaction. But David just drew back, putting his hand into his robe pocket. Harry smiled brilliantly at him, and David arched an eyebrow.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Harry was still smiling. “But I’m not the only one who cares. Let’s go.”

Harry shrugged into the cloak and they walked next to each other in companionable silence, each lost in his own thoughts. They were about the same height, both slender and not particularly tall, but Harry’s legs were a bit longer and David’s limp forced Harry to shorten his steps to match his. From time to time, David would look over his shoulder with a wary glance or flinch at a slight noise or a breath of wind, and Harry had to resist the urge to reach out to lend him some comfort. He was about to ask the other man if he wanted to go back to his room, when a soft pop behind them heralded the arrival of a house-elf. The Death Eater jumped, swivelling around with his wand drawn. His eyes were wide with fear.

“David, it’s okay,” Harry murmured, stepping between him and the house-elf. “What do you want, Sleazy?”

“Master Lord Voldemort sent Sleazy to collect Master Potter, Sir,” the house-elf said respectfully with a deep bow.

“Tell him that I don’t have the time for his stupid games.” Harry scowled darkly. “I don’t have the list yet.”

“Sleazy is sorry, Master Potter, but Master Lord Voldemort said that Master Potter would want to come. Master Lord Voldemort has **information**.” Sleazy opened his eyes ridiculously wide at the last word, and a shiver of apprehension went through Harry’s body.

“I’ll be there in a minute.” Harry sighed, waiting until Sleazy had disappeared again before turning to David. “Do you want to come with me?”

“I might as well.” He pocketed his wand again. “I should start taking my job as your bodyguard seriously now that I have nothing better to do.”

“Thanks,” Harry murmured. “Mind showing me the way?”

The grey-haired man wordlessly pointed down a corridor to their left and much too soon the double doors of the Throne Room loomed in front of them. Before Harry had the time to collect himself, or change his mind, David had opened the door, stepping aside to let him enter first. He carefully peered into the room, clutching Remus’ wand in his pocket and rapidly blinking his eyes to adjust them to the changed lightning conditions. His breath hitched.

“Siri?” He ran towards the man with the long, dirty black hair, who lay facing the door, his face gaunt and much too thin.

Storm-grey eyes snapped open to meet his, and the man made an effort to sit up though the fact that his hands were bound behind his back hindered him from achieving his aim before Harry had reached him, hugging him for all he was worth.

“Harry,” he croaked. “Harry.”

“I thought you were dead.” Harry sobbed. “I thought I had lost you. Tell me I’m not dreaming.”

“It’s me, Harry,” Sirius whispered. “I’m alive...”

“How touching.” A mocking voice made Harry swivel around and stare accusingly at Voldemort.

“Why have you bound him? You gave me a vow on your magic...”

“I thought, foolishly perhaps, you would make an exception for the murderer of your relatives,” Voldemort answered with cold amusement as he saw the two men give almost identical winces.

Harry’s lips moved silently as he looked at Sirius, who lowered his eyes in admittance of his guilt.

“Quite surprising, isn’t it?” Voldemort was enjoying himself royally, his red eyes glimmering in malicious glee and an almost lively flush to his pale cheeks. “It’s always the ones you least suspect, isn’t that right, Harry Potter? Maybe Lucius should tell you exactly how-”

“Shut up,” Harry whispered, still staring at Sirius. “Siri? Please, tell me that you didn’t...”

“I can’t,” Sirius whispered even more quietly. “I’m sorry, Harry, but I can’t. Please forgive me. Forgive me. I never wanted you to go to Azkaban, I never-”

“Never what, Sirius,” Harry demanded, a terrible cold spreading through his veins, reaching with icy fingers for his heart. “I thought you loved me. I thought you wanted me happy. I believed you when you said you weren’t a murderer, I defended you, and for what? For what? So you could stab me in my sleep and kill the only family I had? You must be **kidding** me!”

“Harry, please, let me explain,” Sirius pleaded. “I wanted to protect you.”

“I heard that so often, so damn often, and each and every time it was less believable!” Harry spat, pushing himself to his feet and away from his godfather. “I can’t talk to you now.”

“Harry-”

“Throw him in the dungeons or somewhere.” Harry turned to Voldemort. “Don’t hurt him.”

“As you wish.” Voldemort smirked. “I’m always glad to be of assistance, Harry Potter.”

Harry wordlessly left the hall, avoiding looking at his godfather or at Voldemort. Tears were clouding his eyes; anger and disbelief choked his throat. He stopped when the soft steps behind him registered in his brain.

“David, will you be fine for a while on your own?” He didn’t turn around to face the Death Eater.

“I’m sure I will, little Patronus,” David murmured softly, briefly touching Harry’s shoulder. “I’ll be waiting for your visit.”

“Thank you.”

ö_ö_ö

Fenrir felt like kicking himself. He should have thought about this earlier. It made sense for Harry to come here, in an illogical kind of way. Harry might have been angry, disappointed, embittered and a number of other emotions, but he would not have forsaken what he perceived as his duty. Remus was safe with the pack, so that only left Travers. And Travers was here, at Voldemort’s headquarters.

A snarl and a flashing of his impressive canines made the guards skitter out of his way, and he hastened through the dark corridors. He could almost smell Harry now. He was sure his little wolf was here.

“Hurry,” he barked over his shoulder at Sawyer, who was lagging a bit behind.

“Yes, Alpha.” Sawyer obediently caught up with him, and they reached Harry’s rooms at the same time.

Fenrir was able to pick up his scent him now, and his wolf howled in pleasure and satisfaction at having found his wayward pack member. He put his hand on the door handle but then hesitated. Should he knock? He might as well. The rapped his knuckles against the oak wood, the sound grating on his ears. It sounded too loud, too demanding, too intrusive.

“Go the fuck away!” he heard an angry shout from behind the door and he felt something in his chest clench that Harry didn’t want to see him.

He knocked again.

“Get lost!” Harry shouted even louder.

Another knock.

The door was jerked open. “What the hell is wrong with you? Am I speaking Goblin? I said to leave me a--” Harry’s eyes finally landed on Fenrir’s surprised face, and he stopped himself abruptly. “Fen? Oh, Merlin, Fen.”

Too thin arms wrapped around Fenrir’s waist, and Fenrir reacted in kind, pulling Harry against his broad chest, his hands resting on the slim hips. Harry sighed and then he started sobbing, harsh, cruel sobs, and Fenrir had no idea what to do, so he just held Harry close enough to feel the small, shaking body and to smell the salty wetness of tears. The words he had prepared in his mind got stuck in his throat. He hadn’t thought Harry would be this affected. It didn’t seem real. They had fought before; Harry had told him more than once that what they had - whatever they had - was not serious, that Harry wasn’t willing to make himself vulnerable. What was this?

“Harry...”

“No,” Harry mumbled into his chest. “Don’t talk.”

“But-”

“No, just hold me.” There was urgency and tears in his voice, and Fenrir couldn’t but comply, enveloping Harry in a tender embrace.

It was a long time until Harry’s tears subsided and he drew back, rubbing over his cheeks and smiling up at Fenrir as if he honestly expected Fenrir to just ignore his little breakdown. Fenrir scoffed mentally.

“Sorry about that. Come on in.” Harry took a step back, unblocking the door, and when Fenrir entered the room, Harry caught sight of Sawyer, who had watched the display of affection and sadness uncomfortably. “Oh, Sawyer, I didn’t see you there. Come in as well.”

Harry smiled at the younger werewolf, though it was a bit strained, and he made sure to keep a safety distance between them.

“Do you want something to drink?” Harry offered, looking from one to the other. “I can call a house-elf and-”

“No, Harry,” Fenrir interrupted him, pulling Harry into his arms again before sitting down. “Sawyer has something he wants to tell you and then the two of us will be having a long discussion about running away from your problems.”

“Oh?” Harry cocked his head, glancing at the black-haired werewolf.

“Sawyer,” Fenrir prompted impatiently, when the other werewolf, instead of speaking up immediately, began to pace.

“Potter, I apologise on behalf of myself and the rest of the pack for our less than friendly welcome.” His voice was controlled, even and without much emotion; it was hard to tell if he was being sincere. “It was uncalled for to attack you, and I’m sorry if we hurt you with our actions.”

Harry stared at him for a moment before turning to Fenrir. “This is your doing, isn’t it? You told him to apologise.”

“Yes,” Fenrir didn’t feel the need to deny it. “Now you say ‘apology accepted’.”

“Do you expect me to mean it?” Harry asked mockingly. “Like he meant his apology? Fen, this is not how it works. I appreciate the gesture, but this is not how it works.”

Fenrir furrowed his brow, wondering if Harry expected an apology from him. “I should have noticed what was going on and protected you, I admit that. I didn’t realise they had hurt you this much.” He nudged Harry’s smooth, tear-stained cheek with his nose. “But you shouldn’t have run away, you should’ve stayed and talked with me. I promise it’ll be better from now on.”

Harry turned his head away from Fenrir’s questing lips. “Has Remus come with you?”

“No,” Fenrir murmured before sighing. “He’s waiting for you to come home, little white one. Don’t be angry.”

Harry shook his head. “I’m not angry. I understand.”

“I don’t think you do,” Fenrir replied, grabbing Harry’s chin to make him look into his eyes. “I would never have allowed them to hurt you, not even one hair on your head.”

“I know that.” Harry shrugged. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I don’t belong there.”

“Sawyer, leave us,” Fenrir ordered without taking his eyes off of Harry, who just returned his gaze with an eerie calm.

He waited until the door had clicked shut behind the younger werewolf and he couldn’t hear his fading footsteps anymore.

“Little moonlight, what are you saying? Of course, you belong there, with me... and with Remus,” Fenrir murmured, kissing Harry’s nose. “The others will just have to deal.”

Harry laughed harshly. “Fen, they’ll never accept me or even just tolerate me without your overbearing presence hovering protectively behind me. But I’m done with that, Fen, I’m done with being weak and dependent and I refuse to be made to feel inferior to anyone. They kicked me around like a rag doll, Fen, and laughed at my attempts to defend myself. I’m nothing to them. I’m just a wizard.”

“I can change that,” the silver-haired werewolf stated immediately, brushing a bit of hair away from Harry’s neck. “You’re strong enough now. You would be one of us, completely. They would welcome you and it would be easier for you to defend yourself. You’d be stronger-” Fenrir was obviously warming up to the idea, but Harry scowled and stood up, withdrawing from the werewolf’s embrace.

“You’re fooling yourself,” he said in a whisper. “I’m past puberty, past any natural inclination of my body to grow. I’ll never be as tall or as strong as you or any of the others. I would lose my magic, or at least have a difficult time learning to access it again. And the transformation would kill my Animagus.”

Fenrir growled in anger, jumping up to tower over Harry. “What would you know about it, you little smart ass? If I say it would help-”

“You’re wrong, Fen,” Harry returned calmly, not lowering his eyes. “I won’t allow you to turn me and frankly, I have other problems right now.”

“Who says I’m going to ask your opinion,” Fenrir growled dangerously, roughly pulling Harry against him and locking Harry’s head between his own head and his chest; the perfect position to bite that sweet, delicate neck. “I make the decisions here.”

“You egocentric prat,” Harry murmured softly. “Where’s the selfless, honour-bound and controlled Alpha I learned to care about, wolfie? You can bite me, but we both know that it will only add to the problems, don’t we?” He pressed his lips to Fenrir’s bare chest and before drawing back; Fenrir allowed it. “You won’t bite me.”

The certainty in Harry’s voice threw Fenrir off balance. How could it be that this little wimp of a wizard was so confident in his own ability to get his way? To deny him, Fenrir Greyback?

“Why not, Harry? You can’t know that you won’t grow. Maya did though she was already pushing thirty when Tristan bit her. And even if you don’t, you’d still be stronger. Remus could help you with your magic, and you’d smell like one of us, you’d... Why not, Harry?”

“Because I **know** what would happen and what wouldn’t,” Harry said. “I told you I became an Animagus for Remus, right? Well, that’s true, but I also became an Animagus **because** of him.” His hands tightened into fists, and he turned his back to the werewolf. “When I was sixteen and still expected to off Voldemort, Dumbledore and his cronies were trying to find ways to make me stronger, to ‘prepare’ me. Bonding with a powerful wizard, magical rituals, time travel, Ancient artifacts, turning me into a magical creature.”

Fenrir hesitantly reached out, putting a heavy hand on Harry’s shoulder and squeezing it. Harry winced, and he loosened his grip.

“They planned to use Remus,” Harry whispered, anguish in his voice. “Remus was so damn afraid, I thought he would kill himself before he ever allowed the chance of hurting me. I was so worried about him and so I trained, day and night, for weeks until I could do it, until I had my Animagus form.”

“What happened then?”

“They found out that the disadvantages would outweigh the advantages,” Harry said bitterly. “They didn’t even think to apologise to Remus for all they made him go through.”

Fenrir carefully turned Harry around, butting noses with the smaller man.

“Fen, it’s not that... If you believe me or not, I’m not prejudiced against werewolves, but this is my life, and I won’t let anybody force me into making such a decision, neither you, nor your pack. I want to be accepted for who I am, and not attain some worth by giving up what I fought so hard to keep. I’m sorry.”

“You’re a sweet little thing, Harry,” Fenrir murmured. “And I don’t want you to change. Don’t worry about it anymore.” He pressed a kiss first to Harry’s nose, then another one to the soft, pink lips. “But you’ll come back with me, and I’ll just have to keep an extra eye on you - not that I mind the sight.”

With a small laugh, Harry snuggled into Fenrir’s broad chest, relishing in the warmth the werewolf’s body emitted. “I have to talk with Remus, anyway.”

“What about?” Fenrir grumbled, surprised when Harry tensed; he hadn’t thought this question was too intrusive. “What is wrong? You weren’t crying because of me earlier, were you?”

“No, I’m afraid not.” Harry snorted. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

“Harry...”

“I need to talk with Remus,” Harry insisted. “I just need to speak with David, but after that we can be on our way. Unless you need rest?”

Harry smirked teasingly at the werewolf, sidling out of his embrace when Fenrir growled. Harry disappeared for a moment in the adjoining bathroom, and Fenrir heard the splashing of water and some grumbles. Finally, Harry re-emerged, his face refreshed and his hair remotely more tame. Harry hesitated briefly in the door before walking over to the cupboard, sifting through it. He held up a thick, woollen blanket triumphantly and added a multi-coloured scarf, a hat and a mismatched pair of thick socks. He made a bundle of them and handed it to Fenrir.

“So you won’t have to worry about me getting cold anymore.” Harry pecked Fenrir’s cheek, grinning when Fenrir pulled him flush against his chest. “Why, can I do something for you, my Alpha?”

Fenrir rumbled in pleasure, playfully nibbling on Harry’s throat and neck. He didn’t draw back and so his words were mumbled. “I think you can, my little white one. I just thought that maybe a bed would be a nice change of scenery. You’d look good on it, your legs spread for me and your hands holding onto the headboard as I pound into you until you think you’ll split open from that delicious pain.”

“Mhm, that sounds like a valuable suggestion,” Harry purred. “And maybe, if you perform to my satisfaction, I’ll have another idea afterwards. Involving the bathroom, what do you say? Up for a challenge?”

“You bet.” Fenrir grinned savagely and slid his hands under Harry’s clothes, tracing the fine pectoral muscles under soft skin. “I’ll make you scream my name, little one, and forget your own.”

“I’m in,” Harry replied, smirking. “What do you wager?”

“If, and the probability of that is more than slim, but if I should lose, I’ll give you a blowjob you’ll never forget,” Fenrir murmured seductively after having hesitated briefly.

Harry chuckled. “I hope you mean that in a positive way, wolfie.” He moaned when Fenrir began to suck on his neck, grazing the sensitive skin with his sharp teeth, licking soothingly, rubbing his bearded cheek against it.

Fenrir smirked to himself, before slowly and torturously (for both of them) divesting Harry of his clothes, worshipping the revealed skin with idle swirls of his tongue. Harry groaned, his eyes fluttering close in obvious pleasure and he swayed slightly into the werewolf. Fenrir grabbed Harry’s bottom, so tight and sweet and perfect, lifting him with ease so that Harry could wrap his legs around his waist.

Fenrir pressed a tender kiss to Harry’s lips for his obedience and while still kissing him, carried him over to the bed, carefully putting the slender man down before pouncing on him. He tore of the last pieces of clothes separating them, growling deeply as all that delicious, milky moonlight skin was revealed to him. Harry grinned lazily at him as if he knew exactly what the werewolf was thinking, and drew the other man a little closer with his legs so that their erections brushed.

Fenrir growled, his eyes darkening with lust. For a moment, he wished he could just thrust into that pliant body, hard and fast, leave bruises on that pale skin, draw blood. But he didn’t want to hurt the young human and when Harry grabbed one of his hands and gently began to lap on his fingers, coating them liberally with his saliva, all the while staring up at the werewolf with complete insubordination, he realised that a bit of consideration paid off handsomely.

“Enough,” Fenrir finally croaked, pulling his fingers out of Harry’s mouth with a soft _plop_ ; Harry licked his lips. “Leg on my shoulder.”

Harry complied readily with an amused grin at how flustered Fenrir already was and hooked his right leg over the werewolf’s shoulder, thus giving the older man enough room to trail his fingers to his cleft and push one of his digits in.

Harry hissed in pain. Fenrir was never particularly gentle or patient, but there was a possessive, awkward tenderness in the way he touched and looked at Harry, as if he would never allow anyone to hurt the younger man, but if Harry was to be hurt it would be by Fenrir himself. It made the ex-Gryffindor feel warm in a way he wasn’t willing to analyse. It made living less of a hazard.

A second finger soon joined the first, and before Harry had done much more than taken a surprised breath a third finger was pushed into him, breaching the line between discomfort and pain.

“Fen, give me a moment,” Harry demanded, almost laughing at the surprise clearly written on the werewolf’s face. “No one can adjust that fast.”

“No human, you mean?” Fenrir asked conversationally, tentatively crooking his fingers a little; Harry dug his nails into Fenrir’s thigh.

“I wouldn’t know about werewolves,” Harry pressed out. “That’s your expertise.”

“I never prepared them.” Fenrir shrugged. “With them I didn’t have to worry about damaging them permanently. Now relax.”

“You try relaxing with three fingers up your ass,” Harry hissed testily. “If you had rushed it before you wouldn’t have to wait now.”

The werewolf smirked, wriggling his fingers once again. “Hm, I know, but I couldn’t resist anymore. You smell like... mine.” He growled when Harry chuckled. “Cheeky little thing, that’s exactly why I’m doing this.”

He quickly withdrew his fingers replacing them with his straining erection, causing Harry to whimper and dig his nails in deeper. “Do you have any **fucking** idea how **fucking** much this hurts?!”

“No, not really,” Fenrir answered carelessly, starting to move with shallow thrusts in and out of Harry. “I told you to relax.”

“Thank you,” Harry spat. “Dammit, Fen, this is not funny. Stop!”

Fenrir blinked and froze, only cautiously caressing Harry’s thighs and sides. The thin man was trembling, biting his lip with his eyes closed. For a moment, Fenrir was afraid Harry would start crying, and he touched one finger to Harry’s cheek.

“I’ll be more careful next time, tight little human,” Fenrir murmured apologetically. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Do you need me to...?”

“I’ll be fine,” Harry whispered.

“I can smell your blood,” Fenrir growled. “Why? You weren’t so... sensitive the last time.”

Harry laughed and immediately winced as his body shook. “Fen, it’s been more than a week, and I for one haven’t been engaging in these activities with anyone else.”

“I know,” there was satisfaction in the werewolf’s voice. “But you’re tense today. Why? Is it because-”

“No, it’s not because of you or your pack. I’m just a bit on edge,” Harry interrupted him. “Move, Fen. I’m ready.”

“Why is it not possible for us to have a serious conversation?” Fenrir asked in exasperation, but started to rotate his hips slowly.

“While you’re balls-deep inside of me?” Harry moaned. “Not likely. Fen, deeper.”

“Harry, I don’t want you to always distract me with sex,” Fenrir protested, but obeyed Harry’s pleas.

“Right now, sweetheart, you’re the distraction,” Harry whispered, closing his eyes. “Don’t make me start crying, Fen. Just let me forget for a little while. Please.”

“Of course, silly little thing,” Fenrir leaned down to claim Harry’s lips in a bruising kiss. “You may forget everything but my name.”

Harry smiled and met Fenrir’s next push with a push of his own, keening encouragingly when his prostate was stroked. Gradually, Fenrir picked up speed, bending Harry almost in half with the force of his thrusts until Harry’s hot breath ghosted over his neck, his soft panting in his ear and the smell of _Harry_ all around him.

Finger after finger, he closed one hand around Harry’s erection, made slick and even more silky by his precum, and started to pump almost leisurely, savouring the sharp contrast between his thrusts and the movement of his hand, Harry’s suppressed moans and the crescendo of his own deep groans. Then, Harry came with a shudder, sinking his teeth into Fenrir’s shoulder.

Fenrir howled in pleasure as Harry’s walls clenched and rippled around him. He shoved a few more times into his lover until he also found his release, shooting his seed deep into the black-haired young man, who had dropped bonelessly into the pillows. Fenrir kept still for a moment to catch his breath before carefully pulling out. He gathered Harry in his arms, tenderly brushing sweaty locks out of the pale face, just caressing and patting him until Harry tiredly blinked his eyes open.

“Thanks.”

“I think it was to our mutual enjoyment,” Fenrir grumbled, pecking Harry’s nose. “So what was your idea for the bathroom?”

“You lost,” Harry mumbled. “I didn’t scream your name.”

“You would have.”

“But I didn’t.” Harry smirked.

“You cheated. I’m not allowed to bite you, so you mustn’t either.” Fenrir stated, absently wiping his blood from Harry’s lip.

“Oh, but I think you enjoyed it, wolfie,” Harry returned, snuggling into the werewolf, who sighed. “As I will enjoy my blowjob.”

Fenrir grumbled, but nonetheless scooted lower besides Harry’s body. Harry put a pale hand on his muscled shoulder, stopping him.

“Why don’t we take a shower, Fen?”

“Are you sure?” Fenrir asked suspiciously. “Don’t you want that blowjob?”

Harry shrugged. “You had a point. I did kind of cheat and I don’t want you to do something you don’t want to do. Besides,” - he grinned - “who can guarantee me that you won’t take your revenge and bite me as well? I’d like to keep my privates intact, if you don’t mind.”

Fenrir snorted, but then kissed Harry in a silent thank you, thrusting his tongue past the younger man’s lips, while one hand splayed possessively over the flat stomach. He moved his mouth to Harry’s neck, suckling until he was sure to have left a bruise on the perfect, cream-coloured skin.

“You can’t imagine how much I long to sink my teeth into your flesh,” Fenrir grumbled, absently swiping his tongue over the abused skin. “Taste that sweet blood.”

“You can, you know?” Harry murmured, leaning his head against Fenrir’s. “I don’t mind as long as you don’t turn me.”

“But that’s the problem, little moonlight.” Fenrir sighed, kissing Harry’s neck. “I might just turn you.”

Harry looked sideways at him. “Why? I thought you could control it? That you can only turn someone in your human form when you really want to.”

Fenrir chuckled. “And why wouldn’t I want to? If I bit you in passion it would be with the intention to mark you as my own, and what better way to do that than to make you my own little werewolf?”

“Oh. I guess then I’ll be the only one biting.” Harry smiled apologetically up at him. “Though I’ll try to make up for it.”

“I’m sure you will.” Fenrir smirked before scooping Harry’s up into his arms. “Right now, to be more precise.”

“Of course, wolfie.” Harry laughed before starting to nibble on the werewolf’s earlobe. “Anything for my werewolf.”

“That’s the attitude,” Fenrir said with satisfaction, carefully putting Harry down in the spacious shower. “Close your eyes, I’m going to turn on the water.”

The green eyes obediently fluttered close, and Fenrir once again snaked one arm around the thin waist before he switched on the water, quickly adjusting it to the right temperature. He backed Harry against the wall. Suddenly he laughed.

“Did you know that I wanted to do this” - Without further warning, he pushed into Harry’s welcoming warmth, lifting the slender man off his feet to get him to the right level. - “since the very first time I saw you?”

“I assumed as much,” Harry answered before he was interrupted by the groan that spilled from his throat as Fenrir hit his prostate.

“And this time, I’ll hear no complaints, will I?” Fenrir inquired softly. “I’m not hurting you.”

Though Fenrir hadn’t said it as a question, Harry shook his head to appease the werewolf and wrapped his arms around Fenrir’s neck, partly to stop himself from being pushed into the wall with each of Fenrir’s thrusts and partly because he just wanted to be even closer to the werewolf.

Truth be told, he was too tired for this. He just wanted to curl up under the covers of his nice, warm, dry bed with Fenrir next to him, feeling his soothing presence and pretend for just a little while like everything was okay. Since that was out of the question, however, it wasn’t such a sacrifice to settle for being distracted.

When Fenrir reached his second climax, he stayed inside of Harry, rocking them slightly, while stroking Harry’s over the edge. He held the younger man through his orgasm, littering kisses over the side of his face. He didn’t want to separate. Harry felt so good, in his arms, around him. Soft velvet over delicate strength.

“I’m getting cold, Fen,” Harry murmured, still resting against the werewolf’s shoulder with Fenrir’s cock buried inside of him. “You’re stealing all the water.”

Indeed, the warm water cascaded over Fenrir, who was shielding Harry from the spray almost completely. Fenrir grunted in displeasure, but turned them around so that he was leaning against the wall and Harry was warmed by the water.

“Now shut up,” he grumbled. “I’m enjoying myself and your nagging is ruining it.”

“Well, sorry,” Harry said sarcastically, wrapping his legs around Fenrir’s waist to be able to relax a little better. “Tell me when you’re done enjoying yourself.”

Fenrir just grumbled, holding Harry close until he felt ready, if still not willing, to let the young man go. But Harry looked tired, exhausted, and their position must be getting uncomfortable for him. So he grasped Harry by the hips and lifted him down, keeping him steady when Harry’s legs trembled.

“Let’s get cleaned up, my small one.” Fenrir brushed a kiss over Harry’s forehead. “And then I’ll bring you to your Remus so that he can help you.”

“Thank you, Fen,” Harry murmured, inspecting the many bottles of shampoo and soap. “What kind of soap do you want?”

“Don’t care,” the werewolf grumbled. “You can choose.”

“Okay, I always take this vanilla-orange stuff, but I don’t think that would suit you...” Fenrir grimaced at the thought of him smelling like a Christmas cookie, and Harry laughed. “How about this one?” He uncapped a bottle for Fenrir, holding it close to the werewolf’s nose. “It’s supposed to be a very manly scent.”

Fenrir sniffed cautiously, but then gave a short nod. The soap smelled vaguely like herbs and ice and a lot like chemistry, but that was something he could deal with. He reached out to take the bottle from Harry, but the black-haired man drew back with a smile.

“Let me?” Harry squeezed some of the soap into the palm of his hand and reached out to smooth the gooey liquid over Fenrir’s strong pectoral muscles.

Fenrir barely suppressed a groan when Harry’s slender fingers glided over his skin, rubbing and kneading his muscles until he felt pleasantly relaxed. Harry took great care not to leave out even the smallest patch of skin, his skimming fingers teasing Fenrir’s cock back to semi-hardness before he abruptly devoted himself to lathering the soles of the werewolf’s feet. When Fenrir growled testily, he merely laughed, lifted up to his tip toes to peck Fenrir’s lips and then washed off all the suds.

“If you lower your head, I can wash your hair, as well,” Harry murmured, reaching for the corresponding shampoo. “Why did you cut your hair?”

“It was all tangled and felted,” Fenrir grumbled, obediently lowering his head for Harry. “I’ll grow it out again.”

“I like it better short,” Harry offered, carding his fingers through the thick silver strands. “I like to actually see your face.”

The werewolf grunted, absently rubbing his thumbs over Harry’s fine hipbones. “I guess it’s easier to keep it clean when it’s short.”

Harry laughed and continued with his ministrations until the werewolf was clean from head to toe. Fenrir used the opportunity to steal several chaste and not so chaste kisses before he took the bottle with the vanilla soap to return the favour. It wasn’t so bad, he admitted, smelling more of oranges and other citrus fruits than of vanilla. Harry purred as the rough hands slid over his body and ran through his wild hair, trying to work out all the tangles with little success.

“I guess I would have to shave bald to get my hair under control,” Harry mumbled, and the werewolf growled.

“Don’t you dare! You’ll leave your hair exactly how it is now,” Fenrir ordered. “Now bend over.”

“Excuse me?” Harry sputtered. “I’m not going to ‘bend over’ just because you feel like round three. I ‘bent over’ enough for today, thank you very much.”

“Oh, shut up, princess,” Fenrir grumbled, swiftly turning Harry around and pressing a heavy hand down on the thin back. “I want to check how much I hurt you, now hold still.”

Harry was tense as Fenrir spread the two perfect globes and gently prodded the reddened entrance, directing the warm spray of water to wash away the few red and white drops.

“Do you have a healing salve or something?” Fenrir asked, allowing Harry to straighten up again.

Harry swirled around, glaring up at the werewolf and throwing a right hook at Fenrir’s chin. “Don’t you **ever** do this again. I’m not a puppet on strings that you can put this way or that, how ever the hell you please. This is not acting like a princess; this is acting like a human being with feelings - not that you would know the difference! Don’t touch me!” Harry shied back when the werewolf reached out to him. “I have a few things to take care of. I don’t care what you do.”


	8. Victory

Harry clutched the scroll in one hand, Remus wand in the other, not quite sure which of the two items he would have to use. He was counting largely on word-of-mouth advertising and on sheer dumb luck. Voldemort was a clever man, Harry would be the first to admit to the Dark Lord’s intelligence, and depending on how much he trusted Harry or rather how much he wanted to convince Harry to trust him, this would either be easy or a disaster. Harry was expecting a disaster.

“I’m here to see the prisoners,” he greeted the two guards blocking the way to the holding cells in the dungeons.

One of the guards looked doubtful, but the other stepped aside readily, unlocking the iron door with a rusted key. “The Dark Lord told us to expect you. Should I show you the way?”

“I’ll be fine, thank you,” Harry answered. “I’ll call you once I separated the useful ones from the rest.”

He brushed past them before they or he himself could change their minds and followed the dark corridor, down several flights of stairs, until he came to a corridor that was illuminated by magical torches. He could already see the first prisoners, sitting against the wall of one single cell.

“Someone’s coming,” a hoarse voice announced, bringing movement into the huddling figures. “The youngest to the back.”

“There’s no need, Fred,” Harry said softly. “It’s just me.”

“Harry!” two identical red-heads jumped up and came to the bars that separated Harry from the prisoners. “We thought you were dead.”

“I have a proposition for you, for all of you, and I don’t have much time, so I’ll come right to the point.” Harry didn’t want to look at the twins or the rest of them. “I can get you out of here. If you choose to go, you won’t come back.”

“And who should stop us?” Harry didn’t turn to face the young, all too familiar woman.

“I demand an oath on your magic,” Harry said simply. “In exchange for your lives. You can start over, outside of Great Britain.”

“And what if we don’t want to go?” someone asked.

“You can join Voldemort, without question, without discussion. If you disobey him, he’ll most likely kill you,” Harry answered. “It’s your choice.”

“How long do we have to consider?” one of the older prisoners asked, earning himself angry glares and grumbles.

“I can give you two minutes, then I need the first decisions,” Harry stated. “Twenty-five can join at the most.”

The black-haired man made to turn away, but Fred’s hand on his arm stopped him. “Have you joined Voldemort, Harry?”

“No, but he wants me to.” Harry shrugged, still not looking at them. “You should think about your decision.”

Harry freed his arm and moved a bit away, thinking about his next step. For a moment he had considered a portkey, but long-distance portkeys were risky and power-consuming. It wasn’t something he felt confident enough to accomplish with a wand that wasn’t his own. He would have to ask Dobby for another favour.

He called the house-elf’s name quietly, not surprised when the little creature popped up immediately, his large ears flapping with eagerness. He put up a hand to silence the offers of help and the announcements of gratitude before Dobby could build momentum.

“I need your help, Dobby. I need you to gather as many reliable house-elves as you can in about one minute and take these wizards,” - he motioned negligently behind him - “out of the country.”

“Of course, Master Harry Potter,” Dobby whispered in a conspiratorial tone and disappeared.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief before reluctantly turning back to face the prisoners. “Have you come to a decision?”

Most kept silent, but some muttered or grunted in agreement, glaring at him or at each other. Some looked openly relieved, as tired of fighting a lost war as Harry. As if on cue, several small pops announced the arrival of a small army of house-elves, Dobby at their front, grinning in satisfaction.

“Those of you who want to leave gather there,” Harry motioned to the left and the largest part, amongst them Hermione and Moody and some other Order members and Ministry employees shuffled over. “I want that oath now. Raise your left hand, the right to your heart. I’m not willing to discuss this.” He spat the last part in Hermione’s general direction and her mouth snapped shut.

He made sure their right hands actually rested on their chests and not hovered above them and told them to repeat his words, once again making sure that none of them kept silent or left out words. “On my magic and life, I swear not to return to the United Kingdom, whether to the Muggle or the wizarding world. On my magic and life, I swear to abstain from scheming or raising a rebellion against the Dark Lord, Lord Voldemort. On my magic and life, I swear this, both to be taken from me should I break this oath.”

Tense silence cascaded over them after the last words were spoken and strings of pure magic swirled over them, forming knots and slings before they sank back into their respective wizards and witches. Harry counted the strings in satisfaction, forty-two, exactly the number of people who wanted to leave.

“Dobby, if you and your friends could now take them out of Britain?” Harry asked. “Not all to the same country, if that’s possible.”

“Right away, Master Harry Potter,” Dobby said and with grim satisfaction, he grabbed Hermione with his right hand and Ginny Weasley with the other.

He popped away and the other elves followed his example, each grabbing two wizards or witches before disappearing. Harry’s eyes caught sight of the Weasley parents, Hooch, Fudge, Umbridge, Shacklebolt, Tonks, Stan Shunpike and Amelia Bones. There were also several Hogwarts students, like Lavender Brown and Ernie Macmillan, and about ten Ministry officials who Harry knew from sight but not by name. He was glad when they were all gone.

“Can Dobby be doing something else for, Master Harry Potter, sir?” Dobby appeared before him again, his tennis-ball eyes pleading for another task.

“Voldemort has another prisoner; he once was close to me,” Harry murmured lowly. “Please, make sure that he has everything he needs and that no harm comes to him.”

“Of course, Master Harry Potter.” Dobby tried to wink at him. “Dobby knows where to find this prisoner. He asks a lot about Master Harry Potter, sir.”

“I’ll be gone for a few days,” Harry said, hiding his reaction. “Please, also look after David Travers a bit and get me if there’s any trouble.”

“Dobby will make sure that Master Travers eats more,” Dobby stated, and Harry had to fight a smile. “Master Harry Potter doesn’t have to worry; Dobby will take care of both of them.”

“I have no doubt about that. Thank you, my friend,” Harry said softly, brushing a hand over the house-elf’s bald head.

The large yellow eyes welled with tears, and Dobby disappeared with a deep bow. All the prisoners, the newest Death Eaters, were staring at Harry, making him uncomfortable. He knew most of them, at least from sight, and he almost shook his head at their naivety. What did they expect to find here? What did they hope to gain from a life as Voldemort’s minions? There was nothing for them here, nothing at all. He was surprised to find Professor McGonagall looking back at him with stern but open eyes; he wouldn’t have thought she would stay.

As if reading his thoughts she straightened up. “Mr. Potter, I am well aware that the situation has changed drastically, but my dedication to the education and protection of young wizards and witches remains the same, and I will not leave my home as long there is but one child that needs me.”

“That certainly is a formidable wish, but you might find it beyond your range of possibility,” Harry murmured. “You might think that you know what to expect, but you don’t. You have no idea how Voldemort treats his followers and you have no idea what he plans to do. Your illusions won’t help you.”

“Then tell us what to expect, Potter,” a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark-blond, grey-streaked hair demanded.

“I’m not a Death Eater and I never will be. The difference between you and me is simple: He wants me and in a way he also needs me - he doesn’t give a damn if you live or die, Minister.” Harry shrugged. “Follow me.”

“Where to?” Oliver Wood demanded, reminding Harry painfully of long lost times that might have been happier.

“To your new master,” Harry answered and turned his back on them; he almost expected them to tackle him to the floor.

The two guards were facing towards them when they emerged from the cellar, their wands drawn and they postures tense. They relaxed minutely when they realised that Harry was leading them willingly and that none of them had managed to procure a wand. Their small number also added to the guards’ relaxation.

“Shall we take care of the rest of them?” one of the guards asked to Harry.

“If that’s your job, you should, probably,” Harry said carelessly. “I’ll inform Voldemort, don’t bother.”

They stared at him in confusion, but then relief won over; any reason not to have to go to Voldemort was a good reason. Harry led the small group directly to the throne room, glad when none of them attempted to talk to him. He was just turning into the last corridor when an angry growl and possessive arms around his waist forced him to stop.

“What do you think you’re doing, stupid human?” Fenrir demanded. “You had a problem, big deal, running away doesn’t accomplish anything.”

“It sure does.” Harry grinned over his shoulder at the angry werewolf. “It bugs you, which serves you right for treating me like that.”

Fenrir growled again, pressing Harry tight against his body. “Don’t play with me, little wizard.”

“Same goes for you, wolfie,” Harry hissed back. “You’re squeezing me, let go or I’ll show you exactly what spells I learned to fend off werewolves.”

Fenrir loosened his hold reluctantly, though his arms stayed around Harry’s waist. “I was only checking that you were okay. I don’t see what’s your problem.”

“You don’t, do you?” Harry shook his head in exasperation. “What would you do if Bryan didn’t ask you where to build your hut, but just build it where he thought it best?”

“I would show him his place,” Fenrir growled. “It’s not his place to decide something like that.”

“Even if you would have put the hut in the same spot?” Harry asked.

“That’s not the point, it’s a matter of principle,” Fenrir stated.

“And don’t you think I have the same right to decide over my body as you have about your hut?” Harry demanded, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t doubt your intentions, Fen, but what you did and most of all how you did is... it was low, okay?”

“I guess,” Fenrir murmured and pressed a kiss to Harry’s neck. “Though I wouldn’t mind if you decided where to build our hut.”

Harry laughed, leaning back against Fenrir’s hard chest. “I appreciate that, my Alpha.”

“Good.” Fenrir nodded in satisfaction. “Then stop running away every time you’ve got a problem. It’s annoying!”

Harry smirked, his eyes dancing with mirth, but before he could reply something that no doubt would have been insolent and disrespectful and at least in Harry’s opinion incredibly witty, Fenrir intervened and closed that cheeky mouth with his lips, thrusting his tongue past Harry’s and burying one hand in Harry’s dark hair to keep him in place. Not that Harry was trying to get away, he noted with satisfaction, pressing close and his fingertips leaving small white grooves in Fenrir’s flesh where Harry was clutching to his forearms. He drew back reluctantly.

“You did it in Azkaban and you’re still doing it now,” Fenrir growled softly. “But now, there’re no silver bars to keep me from following you and I’ll always catch up with you. You might as well save me the trouble of having to chase you around.”

After hesitating briefly, Harry replied, “I just don’t want to say or do something I’ll regret later.”

“Like punching me?” Fenrir demanded, trying to hide his amusement.

“Yes, like punching you,” Harry whispered, chagrined green eyes meeting his as slender fingers reached up to trace his jaw-line. “I’m sorry. How’s your chin?”

“Hardly noticed.” Fenrir grinned broadly, darting his tongue out to lick Harry’s fingertips. “Not a good enough reason to run away.”

“Maybe not for you,” Harry replied, glancing quickly over his shoulder, calling Fenrir’s attention for the first time to the prisoners.

“Who are they?” he demanded, scrutinising them suspiciously and edging between Harry and them.

“New recruits,” Harry replied without emotion.

“Rather dreary lot, aren’t they?” Fenrir commented offhandedly, already dismissing them as unimportant. “We’re going now.”

“I have to speak with Voldemort,” Harry argued.

“About what?” the werewolf demanded suspiciously. “He has no business with you. You belong to me.”

“You can come with me,” Harry offered with a slight grimace. “But I really don’t want to have another discussion with you now, so if we could just skip that part and have amazing sex instead once we’re finished here?”

“You’re selling yourself cheap, little one,” Fenrir murmured. “The sex might lose meaning if you always use it as a bargaining tool.”

“With you?” Harry laughed. “Never.” He lifted to his tiptoes to peck Fenrir’s nose and grabbed the werewolf’s hand. “Come with me?”

“Might as well.” Fenrir shrugged, allowing Harry to tug him along, though he made sure to keep an eye on the horde of wizards that had stared at them during their conversation with shock and disbelief and he was sure with disgust; well, too bad for them, but Harry now belonged to a werewolf. He smirked.

He knew that Sawyer was following them, making sure that his Alpha would be safe, and though Harry didn’t turn once the tension in the lithe body told him that Harry didn’t trust them, either. These were the people who had betrayed Harry, had thrown him at the age of sixteen into Azkaban, not caring if he had committed the crime he was accused of. Fenrir wanted to snap their necks, one by one, relishing in every satisfying crack, but with a sigh he realised that Harry wouldn’t appreciate that gesture of protectiveness.

He focused back on the present when they reached Voldemort’s throne room. Everything about Harry smelled like trouble, the kind of trouble that ended in tears and deaths and permanently maimed bodies. But Fenrir was quite certain that it wouldn’t be Harry’s tears, Harry’s death or Harry’s body, simply because he wouldn’t allow it. Couldn’t allow it. Even if that meant running after Harry like a love-sick fool. Not that he was a fool. That was more Harry’s area of expertise.

Neither of them bothered to knock and so Harry and Fenrir, with the imprisoned wizards and witches trailing behind them like mindless sheep, strode into what looked like a full Death Eater meeting.

“What a pleasant surprise, Harry Potter and Fenrir Greyback, and what’s that? Volunteers?” Voldemort greeted, his voice sibilant and mocking. “Make room. Potter, would you like to sit down?”

“No,” Harry replied with a scowl. “Could we hurry this up? Fenrir and I have somewhere to be.”

“Oh, yes, how goes it with your werewolf colony, Greyback?” Voldemort inquired, leaning comfortably back into his throne. “Need any new additions? I could offer you some of my Death Eaters.”

Fenrir growled angrily. “You can keep that scum.”

Voldemort smirked and a wave of relief went through the room. “So, come forward. Show me which ones you deemed worthy to join my ranks.” The prisoners took a few cautious steps towards him, halting uncertainly when Voldemort sneered. “This is it, Potter? Three incompetent members of the former Ministry, two school dropouts, a complete failure, a second-rate Quidditch star, a loony wandmaker, a nurse and a Hogwarts professor. And what use will they be to me?”

“I don’t remember you giving me any specifications,” Harry retorted. “You should build up Diagon Alley again. Restore a kind of normalcy.”

“What an interesting suggestion-”

“And you should get the foreign Ministries to acknowledge this... government,” Harry continued, speaking right over Voldemort’s reply. “And I need a new wand.”

“Something else?” Voldemort mocked, tapping his fingers on his armrest.

“I set the other prisoners free,” Harry said in the same tone, and Fenrir tensed next to him.

Voldemort’s eyes glowed fiery red in anger and a pain so sharp shot through Harry’s scar that his vision momentarily went black, the rushing of blood in his ears, and he dropped his head with a muted whimper. Immediately, he felt Fenrir grasp his hand more tightly and step protectively between him and Voldemort, who shot up from his chair like an angry cobra poised to attack. He spared a brief moment of gratitude for the werewolf before he focused once again on controlling the pain and on not giving Voldemort an opening.

“Don’t go too far, Potter,” Voldemort hissed, advancing on the slender man. “One of these days my patience will wear out.”

“I look forward to that,” Harry replied softly. “You must have expected it, though. You knew I wasn’t going to stand by while you killed them.”

“Don’t go too far, Potter,” Voldemort warned again, but lowered his wand.

Harry smiled, gently extracting his hand from Fenrir’s vice-like grip. “You should think about my suggestions, and don’t kill anyone while I’m away.”

“Ollivander will make you a new wand,” Voldemort stated, looking briefly at the old wizard. “The others go into training. Severus, do you need an assistant?”

“One of these sad individuals? I think it will be faster if I blow up my potions myself, my Lord,” the Potion’s Master murmured with a sardonic little bow.

“The twins then,” Voldemort said with a smirk and the tall, thin man closed his eyes in despair. “If I remember you once said that they were not entirely incompetent.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Severus answered dutifully.

“Good. Lucius, which one would you like? Maybe the other Weasley? Or rather the Quidditch player?”

“If I may, I would prefer the professor, my Lord,” Lucius replied respectfully. “My son could use some help with his transfiguration work and I have no mind for dealing with adolescents.”

“Very well.” They shared a look of understanding, before Voldemort continued, “Rudolphus, you take the last Weasley. What’s your name boy?”

“Percy Weasley,” the red-head stuttered out, self-consciously brushing down his robes; Harry cringed, hoping that Percy would have enough common sense not to stop there. Common sense had never been a Gryffindor trait.

Voldemort’s wand levelled on the young man’s chest, who took an involuntary step and into Fred. “We set great store by good manners,” Voldemort’s voice was quiet, every word enunciated with deliberate care as if he were speaking to a particularly slow child and wanted to make sure that his message got across. “You will address me as ‘my Lord’ and refer to me as ‘the Dark Lord’. Is that clear?”

He didn’t wait for a reply, and the red light of the Cruciatus Curse hit Percy squarely. Harry made himself do nothing, every muscle tense but unmoving, his fingers wrapped tightly around Remus’ wand but his arm hanging at his side, his eyes taking in the exact moment when Percy’s legs crumbled underneath him like a child’s toy bricks, his ears, his whole being, protesting as the wailing screams reverberated through the long room. He was done playing hero. He was done sacrificing himself for people who would just as readily betray him in the next moment. He owed those people nothing. He had done more than enough for them. They had had their chance to escape, and they had squandered it. He had warned them, and from now on they would have to look after themselves.

Harry met Voldemort’s eyes with a calm he didn’t feel, raising his eyebrows pointedly to show that he wasn’t about to accept this challenge and that Voldemort should damn well get a move on.

Voldemort lifted his curse and watched impassively as Percy shakily clambered back to his feet, wiping at the blood that dripped down his chin from where he had bitten his bottom lip. “Let us try that again, shall we? What is your name?”

“Percy Weasley, my Lord,” Percy’s voice was hoarse, but Harry was thankful that at least he was speaking loud enough to be heard clearly.

“Great, you successfully created another toad eater,” Harry spoke up before Voldemort could find another reason to engage in his favourite past time. “Can we move on then?”

Harry chose to ignore the taunting, victorious smirk on Voldemort’s face, his eyes narrowed slightly and his chin raised defiantly, until Voldemort continued with assigning the prisoners to their new trainers, “Nott, Wood for you. Yaxley, you take, let’s see, Scrimgeour. Be sure to keep him under strict guard. Wormtail and Longbottom, if that won’t turn into a dream team. Bella, take Williamson and try not to kill him-”

“You can’t do that,” Harry protested – Idiot, will you never learn? he cursed himself - at the same time levelling his wand at the witch to prevent any attacks. “You damn well know that she’s insane. What is he supposed to learn with her? A higher tolerance of pain or how to lose one’s mind? Find someone else.”

“Potter, you really are starting to get on my nerves,” Voldemort hissed, twirling his wand between his fingers. “Maybe I should let Bellatrix teach you a lesson.”

The witch cackled, her dead eyes glittering maliciously. “Oh yes, allow me, my Lord. It will be a pleasure to watch.”

“Down, bitch,” Fenrir barked, his massive form more than just impressive when he straightened up and squared his shoulders. “No-one touches Harry.”

But Harry’s attention was drawn to someone else, someone much smaller, slender and almost fragile-looking. David had stepped up at his side, a silent, scared protector with a steady wand pointed at the female Death Eater.

“Choose someone else,” Harry insisted. “Killing an Auror won’t go over well with the public.”

“Public? What public, Harry Potter?” Voldemort chuckled disagreeably. “There is no public, there are Death Eaters and there are people who will either watch what they say or find themselves unable to say anything.”

“And you still won’t be able to control what they think,” Harry answered. “You have won the war, congratulations, but if you don’t do something to convince the rest of the population that this change was for the better, you’ll find the next war knocking on your door in little time. Your advantage is that the Ministry was corrupt and incompetent; Hogwarts was biased and many people were dissatisfied. It’ll be easy to do something better.”

“I’m no benefactor, Potter,” Voldemort mocked.

“No, you’re not,” Harry admitted. “But still, I thought you prided yourself not only on your magical prowess, but also on your intellect. As I see it, right now the only factors guiding your actions are hatred and bitterness and not even an ounce of cunning, heir of Slytherin.” He bowed.

Voldemort smirked, inclining his head to Harry. /A shameful day indeed that a Slytherin would have to rely on the cunning of a Gryffindor... Fortunately, this day has not come yet, though I will consider your suggestions, my heir./

“I’m not your heir,” Harry grumbled. “What about Williamson, now?”

“Jugson, you take Williamson,” Voldemort ordered, looking around for one last Death Eater to act as a mentor for Madam Pomfrey, who looked slightly nauseous, but determined. “I wonder, Harry Potter, you do have a knack of getting injured, don’t you?”

“I also have a habit of surviving when for everyone concerned it would be better if I didn’t,” Harry returned. “I won’t be at the castle, as you well know.”

“But your little bodyguard will be, won’t he?” Voldemort asked. “And he will have enough time to fix the problems your overly huge hero-complex constantly causes. Travers, you take the nurse.”

“Yes, my Lord,” David replied before Harry could interfere on his behalf and brushed the back of his hand briefly against Harry’s arm.

Voldemort nodded in satisfaction and after a prompting glare from him, the prisoners split up to go to their new mentors.

“It goes without question that you will be held responsible for your charges’ misbehaviours,” Voldemort said to the Death Eaters. “Punishment within reason is permitted, of course.”

Harry thought to protest, but then Fenrir’s large hand landed on his shoulder and he reconsidered. The sooner they got used to the life they had chosen and accepted its rules, the better. And better they learnt their lesson from one of the Death Eaters than from Voldemort himself. In any case, it was no longer his concern. He really tried to believe that. _Sirius._

He reached for the warm and calloused hand on his shoulder, and sent David a significant look before walking out of the hall without a backward glance, ignoring everyone but the two men following him. Madam Pomfrey trailed after them as well.

“Will you be okay, David?” Harry asked as soon as the double doors fell closed behind them. “I have to go with Fenrir for a while, but you know how to reach me.”

David shrugged. “I’ve done this before, Harry.

“Yes, but that was before,” Harry said softly.

“It’s not as much demanding for me as for the trainee,” David pointed out with a grimace. “Besides, I thought you wanted to keep me busy so that I don’t do something foolish.”

“What does training entail, anyway?” Harry asked, rolling his shoulders under Fenrir’s heavy hands. “Fen, would you let up a little, please?”

Fenrir growled, his hands only tightening further. Harry sighed, trying to shrug the burden off his shoulders without success.

“Basic Dark Arts, the Dark Lord’s ideology, the hierarchy of the Dark Order, proper behaviour and respect,” David enumerated easily.

“So it’s a complete waste of time,” Harry commented. “Since Voldemort will have to change his organisation and ideology.”

“Or so you say.” David grimaced. “In any event you won’t have to worry, little Patronus.”

Harry still looked sceptical, but finally nodded. “If you’re sure, but you know how to reach me.”

David nodded and motioned Madam Pomfrey to follow him. “You’re training begins now and ends when I say so, not one second earlier.”

Harry looked after them, wincing when Fenrir swirled them around and pushed him up against the wall as soon as they were alone.

“Silly thing, what were you thinking freeing the prisoners and speaking to Voldemort like that?” he demanded gruffly. “He could have killed you.”

“But he didn’t, did he?” Harry asked back, trying to relax into Fenrir’s hold. “I’m sorry I worried you. But I had to do it.”

“It’s surprising how many things you just **have** to do.” Fenrir shook his massive head. “I just know that I have to take you home now, little wolf. No more delays.”

“Yes, but before that I have to get a few things from my room.” Harry smiled apologetically up at the angry werewolf. “It won’t be long, I promise.”

“I’ll be coming with you,” Fenrir grumbled before sealing Harry’s lips with his own, cutting off any protests.

Harry mewled in pleasure, leaning into the werewolf and following his lips when Fenrir drew back, stealing another kiss. “Come on. The sooner we get going, the sooner we’ll be finished. And I’m going to call Dobby so don’t scare him, big bad wolf.”

Fenrir bared his teeth in a silent threat, and Harry rolled his eyes, brushing another kiss over the silver-haired man’s cheek.

“And I wanted to say... thank you,” Harry added softly, looking up at him through dark lashes. “For coming after me.”

“Stupid little human, that’s nothing you have to thank me for,” Fenrir grumbled, but there was a fuzzy warmth in his chest, spreading through his whole body from where Harry’s hand rested over his heart and he buried his face against Harry’s neck to hide his wide, happy grin.

He nuzzled the soft skin, darting out his tongue to taste Harry’s sweetness and relishing in the way Harry’s body practically melted into his before he reluctantly loosened his hold enough for them to start walking. Nonetheless, he kept a secure arm around Harry’s slender form the whole way to his rooms, barely acknowledging Sawyer, who slunk out of an alcove to follow them. Harry fetched the things he had packed earlier and then called Dobby, who gladly provided him with additional warm clothes and blankets. Finally they left the castle, crossing the wards after only a few minutes of quick jogging.

Harry wasn’t that powered-out yet, but he realised that he wouldn’t be able to keep up with their fast pace for long.

“Fen, can you carry this for me, please?” he stopped the werewolf, who seemed surprised at the request, but readily took the bundle of warm clothes from Harry, swinging them over his own back.

Harry smiled up at him and smoothly morphed into his Animagus form, running over to Fenrir, licking his hand, snatching for his hair, rubbing himself against the werewolf’s legs, who laughed at Harry’s antics.

“Let’s go then, my little white one,” Fenrir ordered, sliding his hands through Harry’s thick white fur before he started moving again, Harry skipping around him and sometimes also around Sawyer, enjoying the snow that powdered up under his paws.

But when after three or four hours and only a short break it started to snow and the snow under his paws got deeper, it became difficult for Harry to walk as he sank and almost disappeared in the white masses, sneezing and shaking his head when snowflakes landed on his nose and in his eyes. Finally, he trudged over to the path Fenrir’s and Sawyer’s strong legs had created, shuffling after them. He lowered his head to protect it from the falling snow, but still he felt cold and tired. The werewolves didn’t seem to mind the turn the weather had taken, barely noticed it, in fact, and Harry had to suppress a pitiful whine.

They travelled for several more hours, well into the night, the eyes of the werewolves easily adjusting to the darkness. Harry didn’t care where he was going anymore; he was freezing cold and his paws were sore from the icy, biting snow. Eventually, Fenrir called to a halt in a small wood that offered at least a little protection from the raging snow storm. Harry just collapsed between the large roots of a tree, curling up.

Rough hands rubbed his ears before gently plucking the snow out of his fur. “My stupid little one, why didn’t you say that you needed a break?”

Harry just yipped softly. He didn’t feel like turning back into his human form right now; he didn’t feel like talking.

“Sometimes I wonder if it’s pride or sheer stupidity that compels you to do these idiotic things,” Fenrir murmured, scooping Harry up and carrying him over to the fire Sawyer had built for them and wrapped Harry in the blankets. “Turn back, Harry.”

Harry whimpered and shook his head before burying it in the blankets. He just wanted to sleep. He was so cold.

The werewolf growled, pulling the blanket away from Harry’s head. “White one, now, turn back.”

Harry sighed, but obeyed. “It’s so cold, Fen.” Without the protection of his fur, his shivering became more noticeable and pronounced.

The older man drew him into a warming embrace, roughly massaging Harry’s frozen fingers and rubbing his arms. “I know, little one, you should have said something.”

“You’re not cold,” Harry observed through chattering teeth. “Fen...”

“Hush, puppy, it’ll be fine. We’ll go slower tomorrow and make more breaks,” Fenrir murmured soothingly, kissing Harry’s blue-tinted lips. “You’re not as resistant to the cold as we are.”

“No kidding,” Harry retorted before sneezing; he felt miserable.

“Are you hungry, little one? Something warm in your stomach might do wonders,” Fenrir offered, still keeping Harry close to his own warmth. “Sawyer, what do we have for food?”

“Some jerky and bread. I could make some tea,” Sawyer murmured, already shuffling through his backpack.

“Tea sounds good.” Harry coughed, his thin body shaking in Fenrir’s embrace. “You feel good, Fen, warm.”

The werewolf chuckled, sliding his large hands over Harry’s cold, pale skin. “And even when you’re freezing, you’re hot, my moonlight beauty. I hope you didn’t freeze off any vital parts,” he murmured with a smirk, trailing one hand over Harry’s groin. “No, everything’s still there.”

“Idiot,” Harry grumbled, batting at Fenrir’s hand. “Just give me my clothes and my wand.”

“What do you need that for?” Fenrir asked suspiciously, but helped Harry into his jeans and cloak, his hands remaining on Harry’s stomach.

“Warming Charm,” Harry mumbled, still shivering. “Give me my wand.”

With a grunt, Fenrir took the wand out of Harry’s pack, handing it over. He tensed minutely when Harry whispered the incantation, tapping his wand against his clothes and the blanket.

“Here,” Sawyer said gruffly, pressing a steaming mug of herbal tea in Harry hand. “We have no sugar, though.”

“That’s fine, thank you.” Harry smiled up at the man with the reddish black hair. “And thanks for the fire.”

“Don’t mention it,” Sawyer grumbled, filling another mug for Fenrir and for himself before he sat down on the other side of the fire.

They drank their tea in silence, Fenrir wrapping his hand around Harry’s to steady the shaking mug. Harry still felt cold when he had finished his tea and snuggled into Fenrir, drawing his legs up into the werewolf’s lap.

“We should all get some sleep,” Fenrir stated after he had also finished his tea. “Come, Sawyer.”

“Shouldn’t I keep watch?” Sawyer asked softly, ducking his head when Fenrir growled.

“That won’t be necessary. We’re close enough to our territory,” Fenrir argued. “Come.”

Fenrir spread out, arranging Harry half on his chest, half pressed into his side, and pulled the blanket over him. Harry tensed when another warm body settled behind him, not as close as Fenrir, but still close enough that his warmth caressed his back.

“Relax, sweet little human,” Fenrir grumbled. “This way none of us will be cold.”

Harry mumbled something that even the ears of the werewolves couldn’t catch and pressed a kiss to Fenrir’s chest before resting his head over his heart, falling asleep to the strong, even thumping.


	9. A Shoulder to Cry On

Fenrir woke to small whimpers in his ear, his arms tightly wrapped around a heavily shivering body. Harry was crying, caught in a nightmare, not so much trashing as shifting restlessly against Fenrir, burying half in his chest and calming for a second but then arching away again as if he had received an electric shock. The air was icy and Harry’s blanket was gone.

“Little one,” he murmured, kissing Harry’s eyelids, “wake up.”

When Harry didn’t react, he shook him roughly until the young man woke with a start, his wide green eyes swimming in tears.

“You had a nightmare,” Fenrir informed him. “Tell me what it was about.”

“I need to talk with Remus,” Harry whispered desperately, wincing when Fenrir growled. “Please, Fen, I really need to talk with him. It’s...”

“Personal, huh?” Fenrir demanded. “And I have no right to know about personal matters, do I? I’m just your fuck buddy after all.”

“No.” Harry shook his head and closed his eyes. “Not personal, painful. I... found out who killed my relatives. Voldemort told me, and I just don’t know.... It wasn’t supposed to be him, Fen, and it hurts. It hurts to talk about it; it hurts to even think about it.”

“Then why do you need Remus? If you don’t want to talk about it, alright, but how come you still say that you want to talk with Remus any time I try to help?” Fenrir asked fiercely, grasping Harry’s shoulders.

“I’m not naive enough to believe that my problems will just puff out into nothingness if I only ignore them long enough.” Harry gave him a pained smile. “I have to talk with someone, and Remus will understand.”

“And I won’t, huh? Of course, I’m just a stupid werewolf-”

“Remus is a werewolf as well.”

“Yes, a domesticated werewolf,” Fenrir spat, glaring at Harry and at the world in general. “Wearing robes, swinging a wand and sleeping in a bed.”

“If I remember correctly, you weren’t too averse to the bed at Voldemort’s castle.” Harry grinned wryly. “Fen, you wouldn’t understand because you don’t know the persons involved. I need a father figure to talk about what happened, and I doubt you want to be that for me, do you?”

“I could still help,” Fenrir insisted, and Harry laughed.

“Of course, my big bad wolf. And you do: You scare off all my nightmares,” he murmured, kissing Fenrir on the lips. “And you have this unique way of distracting me...”

Fenrir’s mood lifted immediately, and he squeezed Harry’s buttocks, licked over Harry’s lips before he let his mouth wander down his throat and neck. Only then did he notice how cold Harry’s skin was once again. He scowled, looked around him, his eyes landing on the other werewolf, who still slept peacefully next to them, wrapped in a blanket. Harry’s blanket.

A growl startled Harry, and before he could ask Fenrir what was wrong, he had been pushed to the side and Fenrir had grabbed Sawyer, lifting him up and shaking him brutally awake.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” He growled, angry, furious. “Since when are you so selfish, so callous? Harry could have frozen to death, and you probably wouldn’t have given a damn, would you? You want to get rid of him, whatever the cost.”

“Alpha,-”

“Shut up! I’ve had about enough of your excuses!” Fenrir shouted. “Harry didn’t do anything to you, and you want to kill him. Get it into your thick skull: Harry is staying, and if you’ve got a problem with that you can take it up with me.”

“Fen, now calm down,” Harry admonished him, putting a hand on Fenrir’s muscular arm and tugging ineffectively. “Let him down, he can’t breathe.”

“And why should I care?” Fenrir growled furiously. “He didn’t care either if you died of the cold when he stole your blanket!”

“Wolfie, you’re overreacting,” Harry told him sternly, now trying to pry Fenrir’s fingers one by one away from the black-haired werewolf. “I think I kicked off the blanket when I had that nightmare, and it’s cold, Fen. You can’t blame him for taking the warm blanket. Let him go.”

Fenrir growled, his teeth still barred as he unceremoniously dropped his pack member and strode off into the forest without another word and only an angry glare at Harry. What he had done, he couldn’t begin to imagine. And with Sawyer still fighting for breath, he really had more pressing matters to take care of.

“Are you okay?” Harry asked, cautiously reaching out to help the werewolf into a sitting position. “I’m sure Fenrir just needs to calm down.” He pulled the blanket once more around the werewolf’s shoulders. “How about I make us some breakfast?”

“It’s too early for breakfast,” Sawyer finally muttered, glaring down at his hands.

“Yeah, well, but we’re awake.” Harry shrugged. “And since Fenrir is all huffy right now, we might as well do something useful.”

“You shouldn’t talk about the Alpha like that,” Sawyer stated, but Harry just snorted.

“Uhu, right because it was completely fair what he did to you.” He sighed when Sawyer’s face closed even more. “Look, I don’t understand the rules of your pack, I don’t pretend to. I know, you think, I shouldn’t talk to Fenrir like this or be around him at all. Most likely you believe that it’d be better if I just interacted with Remus and ducked away from the rest of you. But fact is that I like Fenrir and he likes me. He wants me around, and it’s our business how we treat each other. I’ll take the consequences if or when I offend him.”

“You’re place is not with Remus,” Sawyer grumbled, glaring briefly at Harry. “In fact, we would prefer it if you stayed away from him.”

“Huh?” Harry blinked in surprise. “Why would you want that? Remus is-”

“He’s the Omega, and you’re with the Alpha,” Sawyer growled, sighing when Harry just looked at him in confusion. “You belong to the Alpha, and Remus should not interfere.”

“He’s not interfering,” Harry protested, but the werewolf raised one hand to stop him.

“I wasn’t finished. You’ve a certain responsibility even if you don’t want to accept it. You’ve the responsibility to be faithful and fooling around with the Omega isn’t the way to demonstrate your loyalty.”

“I’m not-”

“That’s not the point. You show more respect towards Remus than to the Alpha and that isn’t acceptable,” Sawyer insisted, pushing the blanket away from him and getting to his feet. “If you want to have a place with us, you have to decide what place you want: as the lover of our Alpha or as Remus’ cub. You can’t have both.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “If it should come to that point, my decision is already made.”

“Good for you,” Sawyer said evenly. “Because the Alpha won’t tolerate this for much longer. You should take the blanket. Tea?”

“Sure,” Harry murmured, slinging the blanket around his shoulders while Sawyer rekindled the fire.

Harry used his wand to transfer some snow into the kettle and handed it over to the werewolf, who put it over the fire on a branch construction that didn’t look as if it would be able to hold the full kettle, but did. They sat in silence, waiting for the kettle to boil, studiously avoiding the other’s gaze and generally ignoring the other’s presence. Harry wanted to say something, find out more about the werewolf, about the pack, about Fenrir’s family, but he didn’t dare disrupt their fragile ceasefire.

They had just finished filling two mugs with tea when heavy steps and snapping branches announced Fenrir’s return. Harry turned to greet him and felt bile rise in his throat for dangling over Fenrir’s shoulder was a headless rabbit, blood running liberally over Fenrir’s chest and stomach. He turned away, but it was already too late and the only thing left for him to do was to get as far away as possible from the two werewolves before he violently threw up. Even when there was nothing left for his stomach to expel, his body protested with dry heaving as his insides cramped and rolled sickeningly.

He still felt miserable when he got back on his feet, vanished the vomit with his wand, refreshed his mouth with a charm and cautiously returned to the other men. He was relieved to find that they had already gutted and filleted the rabbit, and the meat was fizzing over the fire. The smell of the cooking meat didn’t help Harry’s nausea, but he bit it back and just glared at Fenrir.

“What is it, small one?” Fenrir grumbled. “Are you sick?”

“Couldn’t you have meditated?” Harry grumbled, pointedly taking a seat away from them.

Fenrir arched an eyebrow. “Since when are you so sensitive?”

“You’re one to talk. Calmed down, have you?” Harry glared at him. “Just get rid of that stuff, it’s disgusting.”

He closed his eyes so that he wouldn’t have to watch them devour their meat. Instead the image of the headless rabbit flashed before his eyes, and he heard their munching and the cracking of delicate bones. He wished he could throw up once more because it felt like there was something living in his stomach, twisting and turning and rearranging his insides at whim.

When the two werewolves had finally finished their breakfast, Harry had already packed all their things and thrust Fenrir’s and his own bag into Fenrir’s arms before transforming into his wolf form and running ahead. He was surprised when a large hand caught him by the scruff of his neck.

“Stupid little human, that’s the wrong direction,” Fenrir informed him with a smirk in his voice. “That’s why you’d do to well to follow my lead.”

Harry growled at him, snapping for Fenrir’s hand when the werewolf released him. Fenrir only laughed and with a wave to Sawyer, he led them toward his home, Sawyer bringing up the rear.

The weather had improved again and since Fenrir made sure to take a break every once in a while, this day was much easier for Harry. Towards evening they reached the home of Fenrir’s pack; the six little huts looked rather romantic with their snow-capped roofs and the campfire in the middle of the clearing that sent a soft yellow glow over their wooden walls. The Alpha’s hut hadn’t been built yet, but the necessary logs had already been measured and cut and neatly stacked at the edge, ready for when Fenrir gave his okay for the location Bryan had considered.

“Harry!” Remus exclaimed as soon as he spotted them.

With a few quick steps, he held a naked, newly transformed Harry in his arms. He tightened his embrace when he felt the tremors that ran through Harry’s body and the tears that wet his collar. He kissed his temple and his forehead, crooning and grumbling soothingly, but all the while panic threatened to overwhelm him because he didn’t know what was wrong with his cub.

“It was Sirius, Remy.” Harry sobbed. “How could he...?”

“Shh, cub, it will be okay.” Remus held his slender godson close, sending a confused look at his Alpha. “I’m here now. I got you now.”

“He killed them!” Harry wailed, clutching to the werewolf. “How can that ever be okay again?”

“Because we have each other, cub,” Remus murmured, taking the blanket Fenrir handed him and wrapping it around his godson. “Come on, take a few deep breaths and then you can tell me what is wrong.”

“Take him inside. It’s too cold,” Fenrir told Remus, brushing past the two men and telling himself that he had no reason to be jealous.

“Yes, Alpha.” Remus nodded gratefully, scooping Harry into his arms and carrying him over to his own hut, closing the door behind them.

He put Harry down on his bed, wrapped him in several furs and finally in his own arms and carded his fingers through Harry’s hair, feeling the damp strands cling to his skin like despair clung to Harry. The young man’s sobs didn’t subside and without more information, Remus could offer vague assurances that he was here, that he would protect Harry, that no-one would get past him to hurt Harry again, but little comfort.

“What happened, cub?” Remus asked when Harry seemed to have run out of tears and was at least slightly more composed.

Harry took a deep breath, drawing his knees up to his chest. “I asked Voldemort if he had killed my relatives, just to get my facts straight, you know? Maybe I was trying to remind myself why I should hate him... But he said he didn’t and didn’t order it, either, and that he would find out for me.” Harry’s breath hitched. “It was Sirius, Remus. Sirius killed my relatives.”

Remus’ heart stopped for a moment, his blood running cold as he saw the desperate truth in Harry’s eyes.

“I’m sure he had a reason,” he offered feebly, still trying to wrap his mind around what Harry had just told him.

“What kind of reason would justify him killing my family?” Harry demanded angrily, pleadingly.

“I don’t know, Harry, but Sirius wouldn’t have hurt someone intentionally,” Remus replied, but as soon as the words passed his lips, he that it was a lie. “He wouldn’t have hurt you.” That much at least was true, and his heart rate slowed considerably with the logical conclusion that there had been a mistake. “Voldemort might have been lying, and even if Sirius killed your relatives...” He trailed off, his eyes widening suddenly in realization. “How could he have killed your relatives, Harry? He was already dead when they were murdered.”

Harry shook his head. “I saw him, Remy. He was there; Voldemort took him prisoner. I don’t know... I don’t know how he survived, and it doesn’t matter. He fucking killed them, Remus. I trusted him, I loved him, and he killed my relatives and sent me to Azkaban. He would be better off dead.”

“Harry, you don’t really mean that,” Remus argued softly.

“Don’t tell me you’re on his side!” Harry glared at the werewolf. “I damn well wished he had died before he committed murder. I went to Azkaban because of him! My relatives are dead! And now you expect me to care how he came back from the dead or why he killed them? For all I care, he can rot in Voldemort’s holding cell.”

“Of course, I’m on your side, cub. I’m not trying to make excuses for him, Harry. I’m just saying that Voldemort might not be the most reliable source of information,” Remus explained, kissing Harry’s temple to calm him. “Have you talked with Sirius?”

Harry shook his head before burying it against Remus’ shoulder. “I’m not sure I can. I just wanted... I wanted to do something horrible, and then I just wanted to cry and run.”

“Harry, I understand you’re hurt, that you feel betrayed,” Remus murmured. “I feel like that as well, but as confused and unhappy as I am right now, there’s no doubt in my mind that Sirius always loved you and always will. Just as I do, cub.”

Harry laughed wryly. “It’s not a good move right now to compare yourself to Sirius.”

Remus smiled self-deprecatingly. “I realise that, Harry. But it’s important that you know. I really don’t think Sirius would ever have done something to purposefully harm you, cub.”

“I’m just glad I’m with you now,” Harry mumbled. “I don’t care about Sirius anymore.”

“That lie didn’t convince me, and it didn’t convince you, either,” Remus answered gently. “We’re going to stay here for a couple of days to calm down and sort our thoughts, and then we’re going to go back and have a talk with Sirius. And he’d better have some good answers.” Remus growled the last part, and Harry felt strangely comforted by Remus’ anger; Remus would protect him now.

“I’m tired, Remy,” Harry admitted. “I think I’m going to sleep for a bit. Will you stay with me, please?”

“Of course, Harry.” Remus tucked the furs more firmly around Harry’s shoulders. “I’m just going to get some firewood so that you won’t be cold. I’ll be right back, yes?”

“Okay.” Harry sighed, allowing Remus to get up and instead curling up into a tight ball. “I can stay here, can’t I?”

“Of course, cub, why shouldn’t you?” Remus turned around, almost at the door.

Harry shrugged. “Just something Sawyer said. It’s not important.”

“You shouldn’t listen too much to what Sawyer or the others say,” Remus said earnestly. “What counts is what Fenrir says, and I can tell you that he wasn’t at all happy at how they treated you.”

“Yes, I know. But I don’t want to cause any trouble for you,” Harry murmured before closing his eyes. “Don’t be long, please.”


	10. Health

The few days turned into almost two weeks as Harry came down with an insistent cold that left him sneezing and sniffing and coughing through the days and nights. He had a fever but no appetite and what little he managed to eat, he threw up again as nausea ruled his daily routine. Remus dutifully tended to him, bringing him tea and broth and keeping the fire going in his hut, wiping his forehead with a damp towel and holding him through his nightmares. Fenrir also came by regularly though it was clear that he wasn’t comfortable with a sick Harry. He never stayed long. Nonetheless, Harry appreciated the gesture and thought it was endearing how clueless Fenrir was about a common cold and how concerned he was that Harry might die any minute, hovering around him like an overprotective vulture until Remus managed to convince him that with a bit of rest and a lot of tea, Harry would be fine.

When he finally stepped out of the hut, blinking in the bright light, he still felt a little weak around the knees and his stomach continued to be easily upset. But at least he could breathe again, and his temperature had returned to normal.

“You look better without that red nose,” Fenrir commented, wrapping an arm around Harry’s even thinner waist. “Finally finished with that cold?”

“Mhm.” Harry grinned up at him, shifting his weight to the Alpha werewolf. “Missed me, did you?”

“You could say that,” Fenrir murmured, nipping Harry’s throat affectionately. “Are you fit enough for our usual activities, little weak one?”

Harry glared at Fenrir’s newest nickname for him, but the werewolf only bared his teeth in a smirk and slapped Harry’s bottom with one large hand.

“Half an hour,” Harry grumbled. “I must smell horrible.”

Fenrir sniffed demonstratively, but then shrugged. “You smell different, but still delicious.”

“You mean I smell like sweat and the herbal tea Remus forced down my throat.” Harry scowled. “Oh, yes, I’m sure I smell just like an angel’s breath.”

Fenrir growled, drawing Harry deep into his arms, burying his nose against the soft white skin of Harry’s neck, breathing the sweet, compelling scent.

“Love your scent, but if you want to take a bath, I won’t stop you. In fact, I’ll be coming with you. Let’s go,” Fenrir finally declared.

“Remus is heating water for me,” Harry protested, motioning to his godfather, who had transfigured a log of wood into an old-fashioned tub and was now filling it with warm water from his wand that Harry had given back to him for now. “He doesn’t want me to get sick again from bathing in the river.”

Fenrir grumbled unwillingly, but otherwise didn’t protest and just led Harry over to the tub, taking the sponge out of Remus’ hand and sending him away before taking it upon himself to strip Harry off his clothes and lift him in the tub. Harry glared at him, batting his hands away and dropping down into the tube with the clear intent to soak Fenrir from head to toe, but the werewolf merely took a step to the side, grinning impudently. Fenrir then crouched down next to the tub and started to wash Harry’s back and shoulders, watching fascinated as the delicate muscles played under the scarred skin whenever Harry moved his arms.

“Could Remus help you with your problem? With who killed your relatives?” he asked, and Harry tensed immediately.

“They’re dead, Fen, how could Remus possible fix that?” Harry said softly. “He wants me to talk with... with their murderer.”

Fenrir didn’t like this suggestion. He didn’t like it at all, mostly because this would mean Harry leaving again and that was just not an option, not now, and not ever. He wasn’t happy with what Remus had told him, and if it were his call, Sirius Black would be dead before he could cause any more pain. But of course, Harry wouldn’t hear of that, which was the reason why Harry looked so miserable, sitting in a tub with steaming water, water dripping from his wet black locks. It almost looked like the young man was crying, but Fenrir knew better, Harry wasn’t someone to cry. Was he?

“Maybe you should. He might have some answers, and you’ll never get the full story if you don’t,” Fenrir offered; he decided it was better to give his consent before Harry could go against his orders. “I’ll come with you, of course.”

“Fen, your pack needs you here.” Harry shook his head. “I’ll be going alone, well, with Remus, that is. He’ll be enough moral support for me, I promise.”

“Enough that you won’t have to come back, you mean,” Fenrir growled. “You can go alone, but if you aren’t back within a week, I’ll come to bodily drag you back here and then I’ll lock your pretty little ass up in one of the huts until any and all plans of escape have fled you.”

“I get it,” Harry muttered with little enthusiasm, and Fenrir arched an eyebrow.

“What? No smart-ass comeback? No sexual innuendo?” Fenrir asked, pressing his lips to one sharp shoulder blade. “What is wrong, Harry?”

“I’m just not feeling like it.” Harry smiled apologetically over his shoulder. “I guess I’m still not completely recovered.”

“We’ll remedy that soon enough.” Fenrir smirked, dropping the sponge into the water, leaning close to Harry’s ear, saying in a gravely whisper, “My semen has healing powers.”

Harry burst out laughing, grinning at the werewolf. “Is that so, my Alpha? I believe I must draw on your services then.”

“A wise decision, my little beautiful one.” Fenrir smirked and helped Harry out of the tub, wrapping him in the towel Remus had put out ready. “You won’t regret it.”

“I haven’t so far,” Harry told him earnestly, taking Fenrir by the hand. “But if you’d take me somewhere warm, I wouldn’t protest.”

“As you wish.” Fenrir nipped Harry’s ear, steering Harry towards his own hut and walking so close behind the thin man that Harry could feel the warmth and desire radiating off of the werewolf.

Harry felt hot, demanding lips on his as soon as the solid wooden door fell shut behind them with a soft thud. Rough hands slid over his stomach, down his sides, along his spine, over his thighs, between his legs, and then the towel was gone. All he could see was Fenrir, his eyes, his skin, his muscles, his hair. All he could hear was their groans and moans, flesh slapping against flesh, keens, cries, whimpers, roars, growls, the rumbling deep in Fenrir’s chest, his own erratic heartbeat in his ears. All he could smell and taste was their mingled sweat, Fenrir’s precome, sex.

But he could feel everything from the soft hairs of the furs tickling his back to the heat of Fenrir’s body hovering over him, from Fenrir’s beard stubble rasping over his skin, creating goosebumps, to his hard kisses, from Fenrir touching, caressing, stroking every part of his skin to the werewolf moving inside of him, slowly almost cautiously at first but then with abandon, hard and fast and claiming. Harry felt everything, an overload of sensations, emotions. His release when it finally came was followed by a soothing numbness, a few moments when drowsiness overruled all other thoughts and then gently allowed him to slip into slumber.

Fenrir held Harry, who had fallen asleep in his arms, chest to chest, tracing the white scars that crisscrossed the Animagus’ back, sides and shoulders. When Harry shivered, he pulled one large bear fur over the slight man and continued his exploration of Harry’s body with only his sense of touch. He had tried to be gentler this time, had used grease and prepared Harry thoroughly, because he was still wary about Harry’s illness and didn’t know how fragile it had left Harry. There were still shadows under Harry’s eyes as if he hadn’t got any sleep in the last few days, his cheeks were slightly sunken, his complexion almost pasty, his ribs all too visible. But yet, there had been wild desire in Harry’s eyes, and Fenrir was keen to blame that for his loss of control. Harry just had that effect on him.

“That was nice,” Harry mumbled a good two hours later, blinking up at the werewolf. “Not that I want you so hesitant all the time, but you know, every once in a while it feels good to...”

“What feels good?” Fenrir wanted to know.

Harry smiled wryly. “To be treated like a princess, I guess.”

Fenrir chuckled, tenderly kissing Harry’s lips. “Every once in a while then, princess... Come, I can smell Maya’s cooking and you need to eat. You’re too thin.”

“Mhm, I heard that before,” Harry muttered drowsily. “I guess we can’t stay in bed all day, can we?”

“We could,” Fenrir offered. “I’ll bring us some food.”

“No.” Harry sat up. “I want to get to know the others; maybe I can get them to give me a chance.”

“I’ll make sure that they will,” Fenrir growled. “And you’ll tell me if they give you any trouble.”

“Thanks, but I don’t need a bodyguard,” Harry replied, running his hand through his tousled hair.

He looked around for his clothes, but then remembered that they were still outside next to the tub. With a sigh, he looked up at Fenrir, who had already got dressed in his worn jeans and returned Harry’s gaze with amusement.

“Unless you want me to strut around naked, for all of your pack to see, you’d better get me my clothes,” Harry stated, leaning back against the wall of the hut.

“I’m the only one allowed to see you naked,” Fenrir declared, and Harry hid a smile.

“Oh, but you do more than watching, don’t you?” Harry asked rhetorically, bringing a smirk back to Fenrir’s face. “I could imagine that I’d be very... **grateful** if you brought me my clothes.”

“How grateful exactly?” Fenrir inquired almost eagerly.

“Well, that would depend on if you got me my clothes before or after I get cold,” Harry said pointedly, and Fenrir was out of the door and back with Harry’s clothes in record time. “Thank you.” Harry slipped into his clothes. “Let’s go.”

Fenrir grabbed his arm, pulling Harry against his chest. “What about your gratefulness?”

“I’ll just manage to contain it until after we’ve eaten, but then there’ll be no stopping me, I promise,” Harry purred in Fenrir’s ear. “Fen, how does my lips all over your body sound?”

The werewolf moaned when Harry gently bit his earlobe. “You’ll be the death of me, Harry, but what a pleasurable death it’ll be.”

Harry drew back, looking seriously up at the werewolf. “You know how I think about this, Fen. I don’t want to be responsible for any more deaths. Even as a joke, don’t ever say that again.”

“Stupid little thing,” Fenrir murmured soothingly. “Of course I won’t die.”

“Then don’t say it,” Harry insisted stubbornly. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“Let’s go grab something to eat.”

Before Fenrir released Harry from his hold, he engaged him in a possessive kiss that was to tell Harry exactly whom he belonged to, and in a second kiss that was as much reassurance as promise. Harry didn’t know what exactly the kiss promised, but he hoped it meant that Fenrir wouldn’t die. Fenrir’s golden eyes spoke of another truth, and it scared Harry.

He tried to forget the look in Fenrir’s eyes while they ate, and he even managed to strike up a remotely civil conversation with Tristan about their forest. Though Tristan blocked immediately when Harry tried to change the conversation to more personal matters, Harry booked it as a success. Maya glared at him, then ducked her head at Fenrir’s growl and handed him a bowl with grilled potatoes and herbs, which were tasty enough. Remus admonished him for walking around with wet hair and dried it with a spell before returning his wand to Harry. The others ignored the only non-werewolf, but the atmosphere was less hostile, at times almost relaxed.

“Can we go hunting tomorrow, Alpha?” Chetan asked with excitement. “We need more meat, don’t we? We haven’t gone hunting for almost two weeks.”

“We should go hunting, yes.” Fenrir nodded, smiling when the young werewolf whooped in joy. “You and Sawyer can come with me, provided that you don’t oversleep this time, cub.”

A blush spread over Chetan’s face, and he pouted. “That was only once.”

“Oh, but you forget that one time when you fell asleep over breakfast,” Sawyer added with a smirk.

“Or that time when you decided to stay up all night and then were too tired to go hunting,” Bryan continued, Chetan’s face steadily becoming redder.

“Or when-”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Chetan grumbled. “But I don’t do that anymore. You can stop teasing me.”

Fenrir laughed, grinning widely. “I guess we could, but where would the fun be in that?”

The younger werewolf silently started to shuffle food into his mouth, not deeming any of them an answer.

“Alpha,” Remus said a while later, much more cautiously then Chetan had. “Would it be okay if Harry and I went back to Voldemort’s castle tomorrow to talk with Sirius?”

Harry winced at the name of his godfather, and Fenrir growled. “No, Harry needs more rest.”

“There is a nurse at the castle, Alpha,” Remus argued. “I would feel better if she checked Harry. We could also get some potions.”

“I thought you said you had everything under control.” Fenrir glared at the thin werewolf. “That you knew how to deal with Harry being sick.”

“I would have taken Harry to a healer immediately, but you stopped me,” Remus growled, his amber eyes flaring in anger. “I did my best to help Harry, but I’m no healer.”

Fenrir bared his teeth threateningly. “Mind your place, cub! You told me it wasn’t dangerous.”

“I said I thought it wasn’t life-threatening,” Remus corrected him, not lowering his eyes for once. “But Harry shouldn’t still be getting sick and throw up so much. My cub needs to see a healer or a nurse at least!”

That was the last straw for Fenrir and he jumped up, dislocating Harry from his lap, and towered over Remus, snarling angrily. “You don’t give the orders here. I say what Harry needs and what he doesn’t.”

“He’s my cub,” Remus protested, also standing up, though a bit more reluctantly. “And-”

“Guys, stop this.” Harry put a hand each on their chest, trying to prevent a fight. “This is really endearing and flattering and all, but I assure you that I can take care of myself.”

“That’s why I can count all your bones with my eyes, is it?” Fenrir growled. “Neither you nor that godfather of yours do a very good job at feeding you regularly.”

Remus gave a low warning rumble. It wasn’t nearly as impressive as Fenrir’s growl had been, but the message was clear.

“And could you not do that in Azkaban?” Harry challenged.

“That was different. There was no food.”

“Oh, yes, right, Dobby’s feasts were just an illusion, were they?” Harry demanded. “Fen, I’ve always been thin and I won’t start stuffing myself just because you like everything going your way. And Remus, I’m fine, only a nervous stomach.”

“I want Madam Pomfrey to check,” Remus insisted. “I worry.”

“I know and I appreciate it.” Harry smiled at him.

“How come you appreciate him worrying, but I get snapped at?” Fenrir demanded petulantly.

Harry’s smile just got bigger. “I like to get you riled up, wolfie. All that pent-up frustration – got to admit, quite a turn-on.” He licked his lips demonstratively, jumping a little when Remus cleared his throat. “Oh, right, sorry. Anyway, you only get angry, but Remus would be hurt. Now, sit back down, Fen, I was quite comfortable before you decided to jump up and push me off so rudely.”

“Cheeky little thing,” Fenrir snarled, the fervour in his tone not matched by his actions as he sat back down and tucked Harry into his lap. “You better be prepared to apologise later on.”

“Oh, I’m always prepared,” Harry whispered in Fenrir’s ear before drawing back. “Remus and I are going back tomorrow.”

“I know, but remember one week,” Fenrir grumbled and then kissed Harry’s temple. “Eat, now.”

Harry thought to protest, but then just sighed and munched on his potatoes. He felt his stomach twist into knots at the prospect of seeing Sirius again, of having to talk to him, and as much as he tried to focus on Fenrir - his strong body, his rough voice, his large hands - he couldn’t enjoy it as much as he normally would.

Fenrir chose to ignore Harry’s absent-mindedness and as soon as they were alone again, he instead called on Harry’s gratitude. With a lazy, indulgent smile, Harry pushed him down on the furs, meticulously ridding him of his clothes. Then, Harry kissing every patch of skin, starting at his neck and slowly working his way downward, but detouring the area of his body Fenrir really wanted him to pay attention to; nipping, licking, swirling his tongue around and over his most sensitive spots, making Fenrir jerk more than once. Harry’s fingers following his lips, sometimes skipping ahead, running through his chest and pubic hair, tracing the contours of his muscles. Harry’s body rubbing against his. Finally, Harry’s lips closing around the tip of his erection, suckling gently while his hands covered and stroked everything he could not fit into his mouth.

It probably wasn’t the best blowjob he had ever received, the warmth of Harry’s mouth enveloping only a part of his erection and sharp teeth scraping over his flesh at inopportune moments - and he wasn’t entirely convinced that it was unintentional, either. But he was fine with that because the sight of Harry alone could have driven him to orgasm and when he found his release, Harry swallowed everything and then curled up between Fenrir’s legs, his head pillowed on Fenrir’s hip.

“No, I’m good,” Harry mumbled, batting away Fenrir’s hands when the werewolf wanted to return the favour, and closed his eyes. “’m tired.”

But he couldn’t sleep.


	11. (Good) Reasons

Sirius had been miserable ever since they had thrown him into this cell, which, truth be told, looked more like small guest room with a queen-sized bed, a desk and a separate bathroom. No reason to complain. Sirius wasn’t complaining. But he was miserable. He had been miserable for a long time, more than a year now, ever since he had killed his godson’s so-called family. They didn’t deserve that title. But had they deserved to die? He wasn’t so sure anymore.  
  
They way they had looked at him - it haunted him. He didn’t dare close his eyes. He saw Harry’s hurt and pain with open eyes. Azkaban. He had condemned Harry to Azkaban. Sweet, innocent Harry. His godson. What had he done? What had he done? He tore his hair and rocked his emaciated body in despair.  
  
He hadn’t wanted this. He hadn’t. He hadn’t. He only wanted to protect Harry and instead he had made everything worse. So much worse. He couldn’t even imagine what might have happened to Harry in Azkaban. Exactly what he had wanted to protect him from. No wonder Harry hated him.  
  
A soft knock on the door made him raise his tear-stained face. His eyes widened when his best friend and on-and-off lover Remus Lupin entered the room. He jumped off from the bed and with two hasty, shaky steps he had reached the werewolf.  
  
“Harry, have you seen him? Please...”  
  
“Harry is fine,” Remus told him, taking a step away from Sirius. “I wanted to speak with you alone first.”  
  
Sirius bit his lip. “So he told you? And I guess you’re angry with me, that you hate me, too?”  
  
“I’m close to it, but first I’d like to hear your version,” Remus said, sitting down on Sirius’ bed. “And I’d prefer it if you got immediately to the point, if you have one, that is.”  
  
Sirius took a deep breath and began to pace, twisting his hands before he stared at Remus, holding the amber gaze. “I saw his uncle trying to rape Harry.”  
  
“What?” Remus said sharply, his eyes turning yellow and a warning rumble starting in his chest. “What are you talking about? Harry would have told me...”  
  
“Harry managed to fight him off with a bit of accidental magic,” Sirius was speaking quickly now. “But I knew I couldn’t allow that monster to try something like that again, that Harry might not be able to defend himself a second time. So I killed them.”  
  
“Just like that?” Remus demanded and deliberately unclenched his fists. “You terminated three lives in a gruesome way because one of them **might** have tried to hurt Harry?”  
  
“I saw it, Remus! And the aunt knew what her husband was trying to do,” Sirius argued. “And their fat pig of a son was eating his snack while Harry fought not to be raped.”  
  
“I’m all for protecting Harry, but what you did achieved the opposite,” Remus growled. “Where does framing Harry fit into your scheme? Tell me, **where**?”  
  
Sirius hunched his shoulders, tears starting to run down his cheeks. “I didn’t know, Moony, I swear. I didn’t know. When I realised what I had done, I left before the Aurors came. I was so afraid of going to Azkaban and-”  
  
“But it was okay for Harry to go to Azkaban, was it?” Remus accused angrily. “You had no problem with doing the same exact thing to Harry that Peter had done to you.”  
  
“No!” Sirius shouted. “I didn’t know, I thought Harry would be safe. I would’ve... you know I would’ve done anything to protect Harry, I didn’t want him to go to that place. I... never, Moony. He’s my little Prongslet... I wouldn’t have, I wouldn’t.”  
  
“But you did, Sirius,” Remus said cruelly, and Sirius winced. “Harry went to Azkaban because you acted like a coward and ran from your mistakes. Because you didn’t take responsibility.”  
  
“I know,” Sirius whispered. “But I’ll make it up to him, Moony. Let me make it up to him.”  
  
“That’s not for me to decide,” Remus answered. “And I wouldn’t blame Harry if he never wanted to see you again. But if he gives you another chance, I’ll make sure that you pay a thousand times to earn it.”  
  
“I just want him to know that I did it to protect him,” Sirius murmured, and Remus snorted.  
  
“Your actions, Sirius” Remus growled, “cost Harry his remaining blood family. Don’t you feel at least slightly guilty for killing three human beings, one of which was Harry’s age, a mere child?”  
  
Sirius clenched his hands into fists, biting the insides of his cheeks. “Of course I regret it, Moony. I killed them. Do you really think that wouldn’t weigh on my conscience? But I had to protect Harry. I had to do something.”  
  
“Did you ever consider maybe taking Harry away from there? Merlin, an Impotency Curse would have done the trick, but I guess that would have required you thinking things through, for once,” Remus replied bitterly. “You’ve always been rash, Sirius, and I was keen to put it down to childishness, and when you played that prank on Snape and almost made me a murderer, I forgave you because I told myself that you weren’t aware what consequences your actions could have had. You’ve always had a cruel streak as well, and I interpreted it as protectiveness for your friends. But this time, there are no such excuses. You knew exactly what you were doing and you killed three people and condemned Harry to a life in prison. I’m tired of seeing your good intentions, Sirius, because whatever reasons you might have had to kill those three people? If you had had but an ounce of humanity, love or decency left in you, it would have stopped you.”  
  
“But I did it because I love Harry,” Sirius begged desperately. “I love you.”  
  
“No, Sirius, you didn’t think of Harry or me at all, or you wouldn’t have done it,” Remus retorted, turning to go and freezing when he came face to face with Harry.  
  
“I don’t get this, Sirius,” Harry said neutrally, surprised when a slender hand landed on his shoulder, squeezing once before releasing him. “How could you do this to me?”  
  
“Harry, I-”  
  
“Sirius, I don’t want to hear your rambling. In fact, I’m not sure if I even want to hear an explanation, but here I am.” A humourless smile flitted over his face, dying instantly, and his voice shook with suppressed emotions. “So tell me what happened, step by step, in a chronological order and without any parentheses about how much you love me because I find it hard to believe you right now.”  
  
“Okay.” Sirius sighed and tried to smile. “Won’t you come in, though?”  
  
“I’ll be waiting outside,” David murmured to Harry. “Call me if you need me. I know some curses that might make you feel better.”  
  
“Thank you, David,” Harry mumbled before turning expectantly to his godfather. “Well?  
  
Harry showed no reaction while Sirius told his story, but inside his thoughts and feelings raged in a furious storm. Apparently, the veil in the Ministry of Magic had spat Sirius back out, just like that, and Harry wistfully thought of how, a mere year ago, he would have accepted such a gift horse without pause, embracing the second chance he was granted at getting to know his godfather. Now, Sirius’ feeble reasoning that only the dead could pass through to the afterlife left a bitter taste in his mouth, and Remus’ half-hearted support of Sirius’ theory that the Ministry used to throw the bodies of executed criminals into the veil so that they couldn’t return as vengeful spirits made it look even more like a mocking whim of fate. Who else would return from the dead just to haunt him?   
  
Sirius’ fear of being locked away in Grimmauld Place again and his mistrust of Dumbledore had stopped him from going back to the Order and from informing Remus that he was alive. So instead Sirius had gone in search of Harry, planning to at least reassure his godson since he could guess how hard hit Harry would have been by the supposed loss.   
  
Harry avoided meeting Sirius’ pleading gaze. He might have been inclined to feel touched by so much consideration on his godfather’s part, but when he thought of what impact Sirius’ wish to see Harry again had had on his family, there was only rage and bitterness.   
  
His memories of what Sirius described next where vague, distorted, incomplete and then at the same time brutally vivid, branded into his mind. It reminded him of the video tape Uncle Vernon had made of Dudley’s birth and which Aunt Petunia had loved to watch with a toddler Dudley cradled protectively in her arms until Dudley had brayed that he was too old, that it was so gross and that he wanted candy.   
  
Uncle Vernon’s hold on the camera had been shaky, the picture moving rapidly from Aunt Petunia’s pained expression, to the concentrated frown on the doctor’s face only to drop abruptly to the greyish linoleum floor. A steady swooshing noise on the tape made the calming words of the nurses almost incomprehensible; Uncle Vernon’s booming voice cracked as he shouted encouragements at his wife; Aunt Petunia’s screams drowned out all the other noises.   
  
How often had he watched that video, hiding behind the couch and peering around its side, wondering why there was no such video of him, why he didn’t have parents, if maybe his birth hadn’t been such a joyous occasion as the broad grin on Uncle Vernon’s face when he held his son for the first time suggested? Despite his moustache, the roundness and redness of his face, Vernon Dursley almost looked handsome in that one shot, and his small eyes were filled with love, adoration for the screaming bundle in his arms. And then, Uncle Vernon stepped close to the bed, smiled at Aunt Petunia, dropped a kiss on her forehead, whispered a soft “I love you”, and Aunt Petunia’s tired face glowed with happiness.   
  
Harry had never been a part of that.  
  
He snapped back to reality when Sirius reached out a hand to touch him. “I saw what that pervert was doing to you.”  
  
“He was drunk,” Harry defended his uncle. “He didn’t mean anything by it.”  
  
“He had his hand down your trousers,” Sirius all but shouted, and Harry winced. “And what does it matter if he was drunk or not? Fact is that he tried to rape you.”  
  
“On this point, I have to agree with Sirius, cub,” Remus interrupted softly, holding out his arms for the young man. “If your uncle was molesting you-”  
  
“He didn’t molest me, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to rape me!” Harry protested, but allowed Remus to wrap him in a warm embrace. “He was drunk, that’s all. People do stupid things when they’re drunk, things they would **never** do when sober.”  
  
“Harry...”  
  
“It didn’t mean anything, Remus,” Harry insisted. “He didn’t deserve to die. None of them did.”  
  
“Maybe they did.” Remus’ hand rested lightly on the small of his back, caressing over the hidden web of scars almost as if he knew of its existence – but of course he didn’t; Harry had made sure of that. “But it wasn’t for Sirius to stand trial over them. Go on.”  
  
Sirius told them how he had been ready to interfere when Harry’s magic had thrown his uncle off, the alcohol doing the rest, and the big man had lost consciousness. Harry didn’t remember Dudley punching him before returning to his snack, had he? But he remembered Aunt Petunia sending him grocery shopping and Dudley’s demand that he not forget the chocolate cake this time – the round one with the chocolate icing and not the square one with chocolate drops. The long shopping list in his hand, he had left the house. That’s when he Sirius had broken in through the window and had killed and tortured the Dursleys. He saved them the gory details, but Harry knew them, anyway.  
  
Afterwards, Sirius had run, run, run, not looking back and, as it seemed, not wasting any further thought on the young man he claimed he wanted to protect with his actions.  
  
“I didn’t know-”  
  
“You didn’t know what, Sirius?” Harry demanded. “I can accept that you didn’t expect the Ministry to imprison me for those murders, but you should have known that it would be horrible for me to come back to... that bloody mess.”  
  
“I’m sorry, Harry,” Sirius whispered. “Please, believe me.”  
  
“When did you find out that I had been arrested?” Harry asked.  
  
“Not until Voldemort’s men captured me. I was hiding in my Animagus form, away from wizards or any kind of civilisation if I could help it, Harry. I felt guilty, I know it was wrong. Please, believe me. I didn’t dare face you or Remus and I was afraid of being caught by the Ministry. But if I had known, I would have turned myself in, I swear,” Sirius pleaded, and Harry sighed.  
  
“I want to believe you, Sirius, for the sake of my sanity and peace of mind alone, but I can’t right now,” Harry murmured. “I have to think this over.”  
  
“Okay, Harry, take as much time as you need.” Sirius smiled at him. “Just don’t forget about me.”  
  
“I might try to,” Harry returned evenly, making Sirius wince. “Remus, I’m going to get my new wand, alright?” He handed Remus’ wand back to the werewolf.  
  
“Sure, cub.” Remus kissed Harry’s temple. “I’ll come by later.”  
  
Harry nodded and quickly left the room. David fell into step with him, but they didn’t speak on the way to the room the wandmaker had been given. Two Death Eaters were standing guard in front of it, but it seemed they had orders not to disturb the old man. Harry rapped his knuckles smartly against the doorframe and entered.  
  
“Ah, Harry Potter, I’ve been expecting you,” Mr. Ollivander’s whispery voice greeted them, and Harry snorted.  
  
“Of course you have,” he muttered. “Do you have a wand for me?”  
  
“And David Travers, eleven and a quarter inches, yew and dragon heartstring, flexible but strong, excellent for duels. But of course it was snapped,” Ollivander continued. “Try this one, twelve inches, yew and phoenix feather, great for fast spellwork.”  
  
“We came to get a wand for Harry,” David said, shying away from the wandmaker.  
  
“I see you’re using Eleanor Greene’s wand,” Ollivander stated. “A good wand for a good witch, but of course too mellow for you.”  
  
“We’re not in a hurry,” Harry said to David, smiling in encouragement and taking the wand for him. “You should get a new wand.”  
  
He held out the wand to David and then also intercepted Ollivander before he could snatch it back, taking it himself. It continued like this with Harry handing wands back and forth until David found the right one for him, ten and three quarter inches, ebony and dragon heartstring, thin, bendy and ideal for offensive magic.  
  
When it was Harry’s turn, he had to try out more than ten wands, which all just sputtered tiredly while Ollivander’s enthusiasm steadily grew, before the wandmaker walked over to his workbench and handed him the wand he had apparently just finished.  
  
“I wonder if this one might fit,” Ollivander muttered. “I’ve been experimenting with new ingredients: fairy dust, Hippogriff feathers, werewolf hairs. The results are extraordinarily interesting.”  
  
“Where did you get the hair?” Harry demanded angrily, images of murdered werewolves flashing before his eyes.  
  
“Why, from your friend Mr. Greyback, of course,” Ollivander said, his misty silver eyes unblinking.   
  
“Fenrir would never do anything to help wizards.” Harry scowled at the old wizard.   
  
“Indeed?” Ollivander replied absently. “He said I could make a wand for you with his hair. Quite frankly, it isn’t the most manageable ingredient; I doubt I will use it again. However, it is the core that determines the wand and chooses the wizard.”  
  
Harry furrowed his brow, sparing a moment to look for hidden meanings, but all in all he didn’t much care. He took the wand, immediately feeling warmth rush through him as his magic was pulled to the surface, mixing with his blood, until his whole body was thrumming and pulsing with energy. That’s what magic should feel like. Harry hadn’t realised how much he had missed that feeling of being in control, power running through his veins, a world of possibilities in that little piece of wood. He gave the wand a tentative flick and golden sparks burst from the tip before forming a swirling spiral that looked almost like the stars on the nightly firmament.  
  
“Ah, of course, Mr. Potter, a unique wand for a unique wizard. Ten inches, sandalwood and a core of braided werewolf and unicorn hair, perfect for non-verbal and innovative spells, elastic but powerful,” Ollivander informed him. “I’m sure Mr. Lupin will be glad to have his wand back.”  
  
“You have a lot of wands here,” Harry mentioned, pocketing his new wand.  
  
“That is right. I’ve been busy providing the Dark Lord’s followers with new wands in exchange for the ones they have been using. Few of them were well matched, I’m afraid.”  
  
“Of course,” Harry murmured. “Thanks for these.”  
  
David put the wand he had been using until now down on the table before they left the stuffy room.  
  
“How about we test our new wands in a little duel?” David asked and Harry was glad to hear the restrained enthusiasm in his voice.  
  
“Sure, why not.” Harry nodded. “But where have you left Madam Pomfrey? Remus will be angry if I don’t go to see her soon.”  
  
“She’s useless for Dark magic,” David muttered, and Harry grinned. “I sent her up to the healers’ ward to help out there. We only meet on the weekends for her theoretical training.”  
  
Harry nodded and changed the subject. “How have you been?”  
  
“Good,” David answered immediately and then grimaced wryly. “Well, not bad, in any case. You could come and stay the night with me, if that would make you feel better.”  
  
“Of course,” Harry agreed readily. “Is there a room where we can duel?”  
  
“Just down that corridor. It has shields against serious injuries on it,” David informed him, leading the way to the padded room with mats on the floor to cushion possible falls.  
  
“Are there any rules?” Harry asked, getting into position opposite of David, a few steps away from the older man.  
  
“We should probably avoid permanently maiming each other,” David offered lightly as if he didn’t much care. “No restrictions except for the Killing Curse. Unless you have any objections?”  
  
“No, that’s fine.” Harry bowed to the Death Eater and raised his wand, watching him closely so as not to miss his first move.  
  
David started off with a well-aimed cutting hex that Harry deflected with a shield and countered with a stinging curse. Their duel was fast and ambitious. David used curses Harry had partly never heard of before and he shot them so quickly and precisely that Harry had but a split second to shield himself, duck or dive. But Harry’s spells weren’t any less challenging, and what he lacked in the range of spells he knew he made up with new combinations and the power behind even the simplest stunner. It was a good thing that the walls absorbed the curses that had missed their intended targets or they would both have been caught in the crossfire. But even with the advantage of the walls, they each had to accept some small scratches and many bruises and sore spots.   
  
They were still duelling, none of them able to gain the upper hand, when clapping distracted them and made them stop. Lucius and Draco Malfoy were standing in the doorway, applauding politely.  
  
Draco whistled appreciatively, his eyes glued to the older duellist’s slight figure. “You’re so fast, David.”  
  
“Impressive, Mr. Potter, David, but don’t let us interrupt you,” Lucius added. “We have been enjoying your performance.”  
  
Harry narrowed his eyes at the tall blond and went to take a gulp of water from the conveniently placed bottles. A curse sizzled towards him and bounced off Harry’s shield. Harry turned with a smile, his wand aimed at David, who had taken a tumble to the floor.  
  
“Good reflexes, Harry. I didn’t expect that,” the grey-haired man admitted, and Harry’s smile grew.  
  
“I learned not to trust Slytherins to abstain from attacking when my back was turned, David.” He held out a hand to help the slender man up, pulling him to his feet. “Once, you might have had success with that move.”  
  
“I’m several years too late though, am I not?” David said, reaching for Harry’s water bottle. “You’re good.”  
  
“So are you.” Harry grinned at him. “You know some nasty spells.”  
  
“I’ll show you,” David offered. “I’d like to have a duelling partner who’s up to my standards.”  
  
“You certainly make for a good team,” Lucius stated, and Harry wondered why he was being so nice; Draco was scowling at them. “I would also help you, Mr. Potter, with learning Dark magic.”  
  
“I bet Voldemort would like that, wouldn’t he?” Harry muttered. “Maybe he hopes that so much power will corrupt me as it did him.”  
  
“No worries there, no-one will be able to corrupt Saint Potter,” Draco said caustically. “You’ll always be everyone’s Golden Boy, everyone’s pet hero.”  
  
David squeezed Harry’s shoulder before he could retort something scathing. “I believe that since you haven’t been corrupted so far, despite all the power you wield, the Dark Arts won’t turn you dark, either.”  
  
Harry nodded his thanks. “I think I’m going to take a shower.”  
  
“I’ll see you tonight, around seven?” David asked and took another swallow of water.  
  
“I’ll be there. Thanks for the training.”  
  
“Mr. Potter, the Dark Lord hopes for a moment of your time,” Lucius stopped him. “David, would you care to train with my son and me?”  
  
“Shouldn’t you be breaking in your professor?” David demanded. “I heard there were some problems with her.”  
  
“It was nothing of importance. She just had some trouble adapting to her new status,” Lucius dismissed it. “Nothing a few carefully chosen words could not rectify.”  
  
Harry turned to go. He wasn’t interested in finding out what exactly the Death Eaters did to their charges. He had had enough bad news for one day. He told himself that he didn’t care, that it wasn’t his problem. It wasn’t his problem.   
  
Wondering what Voldemort could want from him now, he took the direction of the throne room, startling when Sleazy appeared right in front of him and told him that Voldemort could be found in his office at the moment. Harry shrugged and allowed the house-elf to lead the way to a spacious and lavishly furnished room. Voldemort was sitting behind a huge desk, neatly organised piles of papers and scrolls all around him. He didn’t look up as Harry entered.  
  
“Take a seat, Potter,” Voldemort greeted him. “I will be finished in a moment’s time.”  
  
Harry plopped down in the black leather chair and provocatively put his feet on Voldemort’s desk.  
  
“Tut, tut, tut, still no manners,” Voldemort admonished him. “And no patience, either.”  
  
“You wanted to talk to me, here I am, so now talk,” Harry demanded. “What do you want?”  
  
“I just thought, I’d inform you about our progress.”  
  
“I didn’t realise we were a team,” Harry scoffed.  
  
“But of course, we are.” Voldemort put down his quill, looking up at the young man. “You’re my heir, and I thought that you had some valuable suggestions with what you said last time. The rest was utter nonsense of course.”  
  
“So what did you do?” Harry asked in exasperation.  
  
“I sent missives to the ten largest magical communities. Three of them have already acknowledged my government; four have invited me to peace talks. The USA, Russia and Australia have not answered so far. I doubt they received their owls yet,” Voldemort explained, but Harry snorted.  
  
“Those three countries, what government did they acknowledge? There is no government. This is a tyranny.”  
  
“No need to be so negative, Potter,” Voldemort replied. “If you had let me finish, you would know that I made some changes and that there is, in fact, a transitory government.”  
  
“Great,” Harry retorted sarcastically. “I’m sure it’s completely democratic.”  
  
“Now you overestimate me.” Voldemort smirked. “The government is an extension of the Dark Order, with the Death Eaters as Ministers and myself as Head of the Ministry and Head of Magical Law Enforcement.”  
  
“So you’re all three: legislative, judicative and executive. How is that different from being a tyrant?” Harry demanded.  
  
“I intend to hold elections to let the public decide who of my Death Eaters will hold which office,” Voldemort offered almost hopefully. “And I’m intending to share my power with you.”  
  
“No thank you, I want no part of that power,” Harry said in return, and Voldemort chuckled.  
  
“But you are already part of it; you have always been a part of it. You just don’t want to admit to it yet.”  
  
“Yeah, right,” Harry said. “What about the Muggles? Are you going to kill them all?”  
  
“That would be uneconomic,” Voldemort commented. “We won’t introduce anymore Muggles into our world. It needs to be stabilised first.”  
  
Harry snorted. “There aren’t enough wizards and witches as it is, especially after your war decimated over half of them. Excluding the Muggleborns equals signing a death warrant for our race.”  
  
“Then they need to be obliviated before going to Hogwarts. Returning to the Muggle world won’t be an option,” Voldemort insisted. “We can’t allow our culture and our traditions to be diluted and dismissed by them any longer just because they don’t understand us and refuse to even try. I’m willing to give them a one-way ticket into our world, but that’s it.”  
  
“You can’t take eleven-year-olds away from their parents. You’ll be creating generations of disturbed, displaced and confused adults who don’t know who they are or where they came from. You’d basically be creating us all over again,” Harry argued. “You can’t want that.”  
  
“I’m quite sure our cases are unique, Harry Potter,” Voldemort replied. “But tell me, what would you suggest?”  
  
Harry hesitated a moment, not sure if he really wanted to get this involved. But if he was honest with himself, he knew that he couldn’t be indifferent to what happened to others, to innocent children most of all. He also knew that every magical child had a right to learn about his or her magic, that he wouldn’t have survived without Hogwarts. Left to his own devices, Voldemort would destroy the world, gradually, maybe without meaning to, but inevitably. And he couldn’t allow it. He took a deep breath and left the path of neutrality to make the best of Voldemort’s rule.  
  
“The Muggleborns need more support, more knowledge to better understand and integrate into our world,” Harry explained. “And the purebloods need to accept and help them. You could assign each Hogwarts student a pureblood mentor who takes them to Diagon Alley, which you need to rebuild, explains customs and traditions, gives them the necessary information about the education they’ll receive at Hogwarts, the political and monetary system, just everything. Someone whom they can ask if they have questions, which they’re due to have.”  
  
“Your suggestion has merits, I will admit that, but they will have to decide at graduation to which world they want to belong,” Voldemort amended. “I won’t allow them to commute back and forth at a whim, bringing their prejudices into our world.”  
  
Harry nodded. “That’s fair enough, but first you need to build up the wizarding world again. You can’t bring children into a war-torn world. You have about half a year until the start of the school year; that should be possible.”  
  
“I was considering appointing a committee for reconstruction.” Voldemort shuffled through some papers. “Diagon Alley has been destroyed almost completely; Hogwarts also saw a battle, and the Ministry of Magic doesn’t exist anymore. But Hogsmeade and St. Mungo’s are mostly intact so at least medical care should not be a problem.”  
  
“Madam Pomfrey could help out there,” Harry suggested. “Her nurse’s oath makes her useless for the Dark Arts or for you.”  
  
Voldemort smirked. “Oh no, Harry Potter, I think she will be of much use to me here, if only because it irritates you that I gave her into the care of your bodyguard. I wonder why it is so, you wouldn’t be jealous, would you?”  
  
“You’re losing your mind.” Harry rolled his eyes. “What about the other prisoners?”  
  
“There aren’t any more prisoners. There are merely Death Eaters in training,” Voldemort corrected him, and Harry rolled his eyes again.  
  
“What about the Death Eaters in training then?”  
  
“They are all still alive,” Voldemort stated, as if that said all, and in a way it did; Harry just nodded. “Though Severus has been close to losing his patience.”  
  
Harry couldn’t help but chuckle, but soon grew serious again. “I need Dreamless Sleep Potion.”  
  
“Severus always has a stock of it,” the Dark Lord replied evenly. “I’ll have him send a few vials to your room, which I take is to your satisfaction?”  
  
“We can meet again in one week,” Harry said, getting up. “The Weasley twins know all the former shopowners of Diagon Alley, maybe they can contact some of those who were able to get to safety. In any case, they will be able to help with its reconstruction. McGonagall was a good Deputy Headmistress; she’ll make for a good Headmistress as well. You should also abolish the house system.”  
  
“Severus will be the Headmaster,” Voldemort stated. “And the house system will remain as it is necessary to create a sense of belonging and community.”  
  
“And animosity,” Harry added sardonically. “Belonging to a certain house isolates you from the other houses.”  
  
“I will know how to prevent that,” Voldemort concluded, getting up as well and leading Harry to the door. “Thank you, Harry Potter, for this productive meeting.”  
  
“I want to live in peace, Voldemort. Seventeen years of fighting and wars are more than enough.”  
  
“Then you won’t have to fight anymore, my heir,” Voldemort said decisively. “For so long you have fought the wars of others, now others shall fight your wars.”  
  
“I don’t want any more wars, Voldemort,” Harry insisted. “You better make this work.”  
  
“I wonder what you will do if I cause another war since you don’t want to fight,” Voldemort replied.  
  
Harry glared at him. “I’d prefer it, if you didn’t force me to let you find out. Good day.”  
  
He turned to go, Voldemort’s chuckles in his ear, and though he briefly considered hexing the Dark Lord, he eventually decided against it. Instead he went to his room to read one of the books he had borrowed from Voldemort’s personal library. He had chosen one about werewolves, another one about the Dark Arts and one more about psychology that he hoped would give him some pointers as to how to help David.   
  
But he took a shower first and enjoyed the warm water cascading over his body and washing away his sweat if not his worries. He had just slipped into comfortable clothes and curled up in one of his armchairs when there was a knock on the door.  
  
“Enter,” he called out, and a red-haired head poked into the room.  
  
“Harry!” A large grin spread over George’s freckled face, and he slipped into the room, embracing Harry, who tensed at the touch. “I almost thought you’d deserted us completely.”  
  
“I wasn’t the one who deserted you,” Harry said coldly. “If you would please let go, George?”  
  
“Fred and I never thought you deserved to go to Azkaban,” George protested, but released Harry. “I’m sorry. I’d probably be out of sorts with us as well.”  
  
“Snape sent you with my potions then?” Harry asked, motioning to George’s bag.  
  
“Yes.” George nodded and handed Harry several potions vials, all diligently labelled as Dreamless Sleep Potion. “Snape, in his charming way, told me to inform you that you can become addicted from taking this potion regularly.”  
  
Harry nodded, and they lapsed into a strained silence. Finally, George sighed and turned to go.  
  
“I hope that someday you’ll be able to forgive us.”  
  
He was almost at the door when Harry found his voice and gained control over his muscles again, and he took a hesitant step forward. “You shouldn’t have stayed.”  
  
“We couldn’t have started anew and just pretended not to remember the first twenty years of our lives, not after everything,” George murmured. “This may not be the future we envisioned, but it is a future. That’s more than Fred or I ever expected during the war. And someone has to look out for you, little brother. From now on, we’ll be there for you. We won’t betray you again.”  
  
“I’m not your brother, George, I’m not even your friend,” Harry said coldly. “And you’re quite right: You won’t betray me again because I won’t give you the opportunity.”  
  
“Harry...”  
  
“What? Do you think you just have to apologise, and everything is okay again? This whole forgiving-and-forgetting-thing isn’t as much fun if you’re on my side of the divide.” Harry glared up at the red-head. “I was sent to Azkaban, and there was no-one who spoke up for me. No-one. Not you or your family, not Hermione, not Dumbledore, not even Colin fucking Creevey! Can you imagine how that feels?”  
  
“Harry...” George started again, but Harry wasn’t listening.   
  
“But I guess it shouldn’t have surprised me, after all by that time, I was barely more than a weapon to you, was I? And you want to hear the saddest thing? I didn’t even mind because I thought I would be protecting the people who loved me. Stupid.”  
  
“No, Harry. We were stupid. We didn’t believe you, and we should have,” George replied. “But it’s not true that we didn’t speak up for you. There was an Order meeting before the trial. Some thought that no matter what you had done, you were too valuable to lock away. Others suggested trying to strike a deal with Voldemort with you as the bargaining tool. Fred and I thought that you needed help - professional help - so we voted for St. Mungo’s. But the majority was for Azkaban.”  
  
“Why should I believe you?” Harry asked suspiciously.  
  
“I have no proof,” George admitted. “And probably it doesn’t make much of a difference. We didn’t protect you and we had no great rescue plan to get you out of Azkaban. You have every right to be angry and no reason to trust us.”  
  
Harry didn’t reply, but something in him unclenched because George was wrong. He had reasons. Bad reasons, like that he really wanted to believe George’s story or that Fred and George had given him the Marauder’s Map or that they were master pranksters and really, wouldn’t they have thought of a more convincing lie? Harry had been around Moody long enough to realise that none of those were valid reasons. But Harry figured that after everything, he was entitled to a little bit of naivety.  
  
“What about the rest of your family? Where are they?” Harry asked, peering up at the other young man.  
  
“Ginny and our parents left when you gave them the chance.” George sighed. “Charlie and Bill left the country already during the war. Ron... he was killed by Voldemort’s men after we were imprisoned in the attack on Hogwarts.”  
  
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Harry said, but George shook his head.  
  
“Ron acted like an idiot, towards you and often in general. I can understand if you won’t miss him,” he said with a hint of sadness that he quickly pushed aside in favour of his usual cheeriness. “He was never my favourite brother.”  
  
Harry grinned slightly. “I guess Fred would be disappointed if that had been the case.”  
  
George laughed. “You might be right, but still, Ron wouldn’t even have come second.”  
  
“I didn’t want him to die,” Harry argued. “And I didn’t want you to stay.”  
  
“I know. Thanks for the chance, but we’ll be fine here,” George told him. “I think Snape suffers more from this arrangement than we do. Just yesterday, Fred made him explode one of his potions, and guess what Snape’s reaction to it was? He made him scrub his cauldrons!” George cracked up, and Harry had to bite back his own laughter. “It’s like being back in Hogwarts.”  
  
“So he treats you well?” Harry assured himself, and George nodded.  
  
“He’s a rather good mentor, to be honest. I mean, sure, he has a short temper, but if you heard one of his tirades you heard them all, and he’ll calm down again eventually.” George shrugged.   
  
“What about Percy? How is he doing?” Harry asked, something twisting in his gut as he thought about how Voldemort had made an example of the older redhead.  
  
“He’s fine. Fred saw him just this morning, and Percy said that he was busy, which pretty much means that he’s in heaven.” George smirked. “What about you? How... You know... have you been? In Azkaban?”  
  
“I didn’t care for the Dementors, but it could have been worse,” Harry returned neutrally.  
  
“Harry, I heard something. That man you were with the other day, they say you that he protected you in exchange for sexual favours.” George shifted uncomfortably, and Harry smirked wryly.  
  
“You mean you heard that I was his bitch?”  
  
“Yeah, that.”  
  
“That’s almost amusing. I’m sure Fen would love to hear about it.” Harry grinned to himself. “It was the right choice, and I’m fine.”  
  
“I’m sorry you had to go through this.” George squeezed him to his chest, waiting until Harry’s initial shock and resistance wore off. “But, Harry, no-one forces you to give him anything anymore. I know Greyback is an important ally of Vol-” - He blew out an exasperated breath - “the Dark Lord, but Snape seemed convinced that the Dark Lord would be on your side.”  
  
“I know.” Harry laughed. “But like I said, Fenrir was the right choice. He cares, he makes me feel and breaks me out of my numbness.”  
  
“Harry, Harry, Harry, you really managed to make friends with the infamous Fenrir Greyback, didn’t you?” George shook his head in wonder.  
  
“I guess.” Harry shrugged. “So... Fen is infamous?”  
  
“Merlin, yeah!” George exclaimed. “Mum used to tell us, he would come and get us if we didn’t clean up our rooms or were mean to each other.”  
  
“Oh,” Harry mumbled. “I guess I now get why he was so disappointed when I didn’t recognise him.”  
  
George laughed. “I doubt it would have changed your mind if you had known of his reputation beforehand, Harry.”  
  
“Of course not,” Harry said sternly. “His bark is much worse than his bite.”  
  
“If you say so, Harry.” George chuckled, ruffling Harry’s black hair much to the younger man’s annoyance. “I’m afraid I have to go and save Fred now, but you’ll come to us if we can help you in any way.”  
  
“Don’t you mean that you have to save Snape?” Harry grinned up at him. “Take care.”  
  
George laughed and after a promise not to annoy the Potion’s Master too much, he was on his way and left Harry to his book. He read for a couple of hours, but time and time again, his thoughts strayed to the conversation with George, to Fenrir and most of all to Sirius. He found himself wanting to forgive his godfather, just for the sake of feeling the comfort of his arms around him, to receive that unconditional love again he had always connected with Sirius. But had it ever even existed? He wasn’t so sure anymore and he didn’t want to have his heart and soul crushed all over again just because he was foolish enough to give Sirius another chance.  
  
Finally, he was released from his self-torturous thoughts because it was time to go to David to help fend off the Death Eater’s nightmares. He gathered the potions George had brought him earlier and left, locking his door behind him.   
  
But when he knocked on the door to David’s rooms, he received a surprise.


	12. Bias

Sirius looked up when the door to his cell inched open and a slender grey-haired man slipped into his room, softly closing the door behind him.  
  
“Travers.”  
  
“Black.”  
  
“It’s been a while. What do you want?”  
  
“You have to tell them the truth,” David said without preamble, and Sirius tensed.  
  
“I did. I killed Harry’s family.”  
  
“About Azkaban. You have to tell them why you were so afraid of going back,” David explained, making Sirius tense even more.   
  
“You don’t understand...”  
  
“Don’t I? I think I understand pretty damn well,” David retorted. “I’ve been there as well, remember?” Sirius remained silent, and David sighed. “Harry helped me in Azkaban; he’s helping me now.”  
  
Sirius’ head snapped up. “What happened to Harry? Was he... you know, like us?”  
  
“Harry’s different,” David replied. “He had a protector.”  
  
“Protector?” Sirius asked with hope and dread mixing in his voice. “What do you mean?”  
  
“Fenrir Greyback had an interest in him and he didn’t want to share so he protected him from the other prisoners,” David murmured.   
  
“So he was raped by one person only?” Sirius demanded, a hysterical edge to his voice.   
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” The Animagus was breathing heavily.  
  
“You asked.” David shrugged. “Harry needs to know why you killed his family and ran.”  
  
“I told him already.”  
  
“And you left out the crucial part,” David pointed out.  
  
“Don’t. That has nothing to do with what I did,” Sirius protested.  
  
“Oh, doesn’t it? Because I sure as hell have a hard time not letting what those scumbags did influence my daily life. Do tell me how you managed to forget their hands on your skin, their cocks plundering your ass as they entered you with such force that you could feel them leave on the other side,” David taunted.  
  
“Don’t,” Sirius repeated.  
  
“Or maybe you enjoyed it, did you? Maybe your screams were screams of pleasure and maybe you begged them to thrust harder and faster instead of pleading with them to stop,” David continued. “Cut the crap, Black.”  
  
“That might explain why I ran, but not why I killed Harry’s family,” Sirius muttered. “I have no excuse for that.”  
  
“You thought Harry was in danger, that his uncle was like the guards in Azkaban,” David stated. “That’s why you killed them, to protect Harry, to save Harry from our fate.”  
  
“But I didn’t,” Sirius whispered. “I made everything worse.”  
  
“And you at least owe Harry an explanation as to why you did it. He would want to know,” David insisted, and Sirius nodded reluctantly. “Good, then come.”  
  
ö_ö_ö  
  
David ushered Harry into the room and made him sit down. Opposite of his godfather who was twisting his hands nervously.  
  
“What is he doing here?” Harry demanded, maybe a bit more harshly than he had intended.  
  
“Harry, did you know that I met Black before?” David asked, also seeming nervous, especially as Harry turned to stare at him. “In Azkaban. We met in Azkaban. We were imprisoned at about the same time though Black was soon put into solitary confinement. But we knew each other.”  
  
“David, you don’t have to talk about this,” Harry protested, knowing that this couldn’t be easy for the Death Eater.  
  
“This needs to be said, Harry, because you need to understand.” David put up a hand to silence him. “You don’t. You know what happened to me, and you know that those bastards didn’t need a reason. They had one with Black.”  
  
Sirius gave a shuddery sob, and Harry was at his side before he had made the conscious decision to move. “I never wanted you to go there, Harry. I’m so sorry.”  
  
“Shh, Siri, shh, nothing happened to me,” Harry crooned into his ear, rubbing Sirius’ back, and was for a moment surprised at how natural it felt to hug his godfather. “I’m sorry.”  
  
“No!” Sirius exclaimed. “I don’t want you to be sorry. It was my fault. I should’ve never killed your family. I was so afraid your uncle would... that he’d...”  
  
“Shh, Siri, he didn’t,” Harry murmured soothingly. “Will you tell me what happened to you? If it isn’t too painful?”  
  
Sirius looked pleadingly up at David, who nodded with a sigh. “Black was much more handsome than I ever was, and as I said, he was put into solitary confinement. He was too handsome to be wasted on the prisoners.”  
  
Sirius sniffed, harshly brushing away his tears, and then pulled Harry into a tight embrace. “It wasn’t that often and only one or two of the guards. Don’t... Don’t let this influence you. You shouldn’t forgive me...”  
  
“How often, Siri?” Harry asked softly.  
  
“Four or five times,” Sirius mumbled tersely. “Then I was too filthy, too used. One of the guards had a personal agenda against one of my rapists and ratted on him. The others got too afraid to do much more than leer at me... I didn’t want you to go there, Harry.”  
  
“I know.” Harry kissed the older Animagus’ temple. “I know. But I’m fine... Does Remus know?” Harry asked, causing the older man to shake his head wildly. “You were together with him! Why didn’t you tell him? Don’t you think he would’ve wanted to know?”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Sirius whimpered. “I’m sorry. But he wouldn’t have wanted me anymore-”  
  
“That’s complete nonsense, Sirius!” Harry protested, looking appealingly at David, who didn’t react at all. “He’d have helped you. Remus is the best person I know; he’d never have abandoned you.”  
  
“I don’t need help,” Sirius muttered stubbornly.  
  
“I guess that’s why you killed my relatives then, isn’t it?” Harry demanded, and Sirius winced guiltily. “Siri, you didn’t deserve to be raped; it doesn’t make you a lesser person, but you’ll tell Remus and you’ll let us help you because I won’t lose someone else because you have another psychotic break. What if next time you kill Remus because you misinterpret a hug?”  
  
“I wouldn’t, I wouldn’t, Harry,” Sirius pleaded, but Harry didn’t budge.  
  
“You might. I admit, my uncle wasn’t the nicest person, but he was a human being, and he didn’t deserve to die like this.” David snorted, and Harry glared at him. “I know you think differently, David, but I won’t accept this. I won’t accept you killing innocent people. Your rapists, they might have deserved it, I’m not going to deny this, but if you start killing people pre-emptively, you might as well start with me.”  
  
Sirius’ arms tightened around him, and David walked over to his liquor cabinet to pour himself a drink. “Firewhiskey, anyone?”  
  
“I could use one,” Sirius croaked, reaching out to take the glass from David and immediately taking a gulp.  
  
“Can I leave you two for a few minutes to get Remus without you drinking yourself into oblivion?” Harry asked, shaking his head when David raised his glass in a toast. “I’ll be right back.”  
  
He found Remus with the help of Dobby and led the worried-looking werewolf back to David’s rooms. Remus’ worry only increased when he found his ex-lover, sitting with his head almost between his knees, an empty glass in his hand.  
  
“Siri,” Harry said softly, making his black head snap up, “Maybe you want to tell Remus yourself? I’m sure he would appreciate that.”  
  
“I don’t think I can,” Sirius whispered desperately.  
  
“Shh, Siri, it’ll be fine,” Harry murmured, taking Remus by the hand to lead him over to the Animagus. “I know you can. Remus deserves to know.”  
  
Sirius took a deep breath, but then began to talk. Remus’ face lost its colour, and when Sirius finished, the werewolf crushed both Harry and him to his chest before releasing Sirius guiltily.  
  
“Merlin, Paddy, I’m sorry, I didn’t meant to hurt or scare you.”  
  
Sirius curled up again, looking like the perfect image of misery. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”  
  
“I should have noticed,” Remus returned helplessly.  
  
“I understand that you don’t want me anymore,” Sirius murmured.  
  
“Merlin, no, Paddy,” Remus exclaimed, looking horrified. “That’s not what I meant at all. That’s not what I said.”  
  
“I wouldn’t want myself, either,” Sirius muttered, not listening to Remus. “I’m dirty.”  
  
“No, you’re not!” Remus insisted, hesitantly and carefully pulling Sirius into another embrace. “You’re beautiful, you smell perfect and you’re an idiot. Such an idiot. Why didn’t you tell me? Merlin, Sirius, you must have been so scared.”  
  
Sirius tilted his head in confusion. “Why? When?”  
  
“When we made love Sirius! You were raped, and I forced myself onto you-”  
  
“I wanted you to make love to me,” Sirius protested. “Why should I have been scared? It was you.”  
  
Remus’ eyes filled with tears as he lovingly patted Sirius’ hair, still holding him close. “I’m sorry for what I said earlier.”  
  
“You were right.” Sirius admitted. “I didn’t think of you or Harry.”  
  
“But you were scared,” Harry intervened. “It doesn’t make it right, Sirius, but I’ll consider it mitigating circumstances.”  
  
“Thank you, Harry,” the grey-eyed man murmured. “I’ll try to make it up to you.”  
  
“Of course you will, and you’ll be doing so by getting some help,” Harry decided evenly, and Sirius nodded, kissing his godson’s temple.  
  
“I’ll do whatever you want me to.”  
  
Harry looked at Remus in question. “I think you and Sirius have much to discuss, Remy, don’t you?”  
  
“Yes, I think Sirius and I need to resolve some issues,” Remus agreed, cautiously taking Sirius by the hand as if he feared it would shatter if he held on too tightly. “We need to have a serious conversation.”  
  
Sirius perked up hopefully. “Could we have something more as well?”  
  
“What do you mean?” Remus looked honestly confused, even when Sirius licked his lips suggestively. “We can have dinner together.”  
  
“I was thinking about something more active,” Sirius offered, brushing his hand across Remus’ butt. “I missed you, Moony.”  
  
The werewolf’s eyes widened. “But we can’t do that! You’re under a lot of emotional stress right now and... you’re frail.”  
  
Sirius pouted and turned expectantly to Harry. “That’s between the two of you.” Harry raised his hands.   
  
“I’ll show you frail, Moony,” Sirius whispered, a promise in his eyes.  
  
Remus scowled, but finally wrapped his arm around Sirius’ waist. “What you show me will first and foremost depend on what you tell me.”  
  
“Mhm, if you say so,” Sirius returned. “Harry, are you sure we’re okay? I don’t want you to be angry with me, but I could understand if you were.”  
  
Harry shook his head. “We’re fine, Siri. Just talk with Remus.”  
  
Sirius sent him a slightly insecure smile, but left with Remus, bantering and bickering. Harry turned to David, who was still nursing his Firewhiskey and now looking at Harry.  
  
“Thank you,” Harry murmured, walking over to the older man as if to hug him, but then just said “thank you” once more.  
  
“I thought you needed to know.” David shrugged. “It changes the situation.”  
  
“Yes, it does.” Harry nodded. “It makes it more believable that he only wanted to protect me, or maybe protect himself. At least it wasn’t cold-blooded murder but defence.”  
  
David’s lips quirked into a grimace. “I guess I’ll remain the only murderer you have to put up with.”  
  
“I’m not ‘putting up’ with you,” Harry corrected him gently. “I happen to care about you.”  
  
“I see you’re not protesting me being a murderer.”  
  
“I was getting to that.” Harry scowled good-naturedly at him. “I see you more as an Angel of Vengeance.”  
  
“Angel? You must really have hit your head, Patronus.” David chuckled, but motioned Harry to him. “Come, it’s been a tiring day.”  
  
David magically changed into some pyjamas, slipped under the covers and then arched an eyebrow when Harry hesitated.  
  
“Can we talk some more?”  
  
“Of course we can,” David replied.  
  
“Are you sure?” Harry inquired timidly, not convinced that it wouldn’t turn out be too much for David to have another man in his bed.  
  
David wordlessly pulled back the covers for Harry, waiting for the younger man to join him. They lay next to each other on their backs, looking up at the ceiling.   
  
“I lied, you know? Sirius and I, we’re not fine, not by a long shot,” Harry whispered. “What do I do now, David? I feel like I should help him, a part of me wants to help him, but I don’t think I can ever forget what he did to my relatives.”  
  
“I don’t think I will ever forget Azkaban,” David said.  
  
Harry sighed. “I’m sorry I brought this up.”  
  
“We all have burdens to bear.” David shrugged. “I’m not saying that your problems are less important than mine. I’m just not sure what advice to give you. All I can say is that I probably would have killed them as well. It takes a lot of effort to see people nowadays, human beings. Mostly I see **them** , over and over and over again. Threats, everywhere.”  
  
“It’s just... I never considered it and I should have, at least after I met you and after I’ve been there,” Harry murmured. “But how can I forgive him just because I found this out about him? My relatives didn’t deserve anymore to die.”  
  
“But they’re dead,” David argued. “And they won’t be brought back to life just because you don’t forgive Black. You have to stop wanting to always do the right thing.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“The Light side was shattered, smashed. It doesn’t exist anymore, and even before that they deserted you. But still you cling to what they drilled into you: That it’s your responsibility to save everyone and that it’s your fault if something goes wrong.” David turned his head to look at Harry. “You have to stop this.”  
  
Harry furrowed his brow. “You mean it’s alright if I help you, but everyone else I should just ignore, is that it?”  
  
“I didn’t ask you to help me,” David muttered, and Harry sighed.  
  
“I know, I’m sorry. But I want to help you. Maybe it’s because it’s been drilled into me, but I refuse to see that as a bad trait.”  
  
“I didn’t say that,” the Death Eater replied. “It’s a good trait for others, for me, but it’s not good for you. For once, I think you should base the decision of whether to forgive Black or not on what you yourself want and not what you think is right.”  
  
“I wouldn’t hesitate if it were someone else,” Harry admitted. “I would have let Voldemort kill their murderer.”  
  
“We’re allowed to be biased and selfish where our families and friends are involved. Otherwise, we would all be like Bartemius Crouch Sr.” David inspected his new wand. “Barty was handsome as well.”  
  
Harry shuddered, closing his eyes in despair. “Isn’t that place horrible enough, why did they have to add to it? How can anyone wish to do that to another human being?”  
  
“I imagine that...” David paused uncertainly. “I don’t know.”  
  
“Good,” Harry said forcefully, bringing a grimace to David’s face. “I couldn’t like a person who can sympathise with a rapist.”  
  
“What will you do, Harry?” the grey-haired man asked after a short silence. “Or, maybe the question should be how you see Black. As a murderer or as your godfather.”  
  
“Honestly?” Harry absently pressed a hand to his cramping stomach. “I see him as a rape-victim.”  
  
“Then you should treat him accordingly,” David concluded simply, putting his wand aside.   
  
“How do I do that? You saw him; you saw how he was with Remus. How do I treat my easy-going, fun-loving, flirty godfather as a rape-victim?” Harry demanded.  
  
“You have no problem treating me like one,” David said accusingly.  
  
Harry’s eyes widened. “David...”  
  
“Don’t bother. I get it. I’m only a rape-victim, and that’s all I’m ever going to be. They made sure of that.” He turned his back on Harry, noxing the lights.  
  
“David-”  
  
“Let’s sleep, Harry,” David said coldly, and Harry sighed.  
  
He cautiously reached out to pat David’s shoulder, but snapped his hand back when David winced and drew away. Harry swallowed heavily against the feeling of having messed everything up and returned to his side of the bed, sightlessly staring up. He felt weak, exhausted, helpless. His stomach was cramping, and his head hurt. Maybe he should just leave; he certainly wasn’t welcome there anymore.  
  
He sat up halfway, but was stopped by chapped lips on his, demanding and desperate and scared. Harry relaxed into the kiss, even opening his mouth a little to allow David’s tongue access while wiping away the older man’s tears with his thumbs.  
  
Shortly after, David pulled back with a sob, wrapping his arms around himself and rocking piteously.  
  
“I’m sorry, Patronus. I’m sorry.”  
  
“Hey, now, it’s fine,” Harry murmured, shifting closer to the Death Eater. “I’m there for you. It’s okay.”  
  
“No, it’s not. I’m a wreck, a disgusting accumulation of used flesh. I should have died. This is no life, this is not even an existence - it’s pure torture,” David retorted. “I’m weak and disgusting and I’ll never be normal again. I’ll always be a rape-victim.”  
  
“You’re already so much more, David,” Harry corrected him, grasping one of his hands. “You’re one of Voldemort’s followers, you’re a great duellist, you’re a mentor, you’re a friend and you’re everything they never were. No one can take that away from you if you don’t allow it, and you didn’t. Despite everything, you haven’t given up, and that’s something I admire greatly.”  
  
“You mean when you’re not busy pitying me,” David spat, but squeezed Harry’s hand so hard that it hurt. “Tell me, Harry, how do you really see me?”  
  
“My friend,” Harry replied without hesitation. “I like to think that we’re friends, aren’t we? You’re a friend who’s going through a difficult time right now and who may need a bit more attention and consolation.”  
  
“Why would you want to be friends with me? I have nothing to give you,” David demanded.  
  
“Don’t you? And why is it that we just had a very helpful conversation about what **I** should do regarding my godfather? How come **I** feel better now if you weren’t my friend? How come you explained and talked about things that were painful for you to try to help **me** if not because you also consider me your friend?” Harry shook his head. “I think I might actually be able to face Sirius now without pictures of their mangled bodies flashing before my eyes, thanks to you.”  
  
“Black,” David fairly spat the name, and Harry was beginning to lose the feeling in his hand. “You see **him** as a rape-victim? I wonder why. He has no problem with jumping into bed with Lupin.”  
  
“David, we all deal differently with what happens to us. From what you both told me, Sirius wasn’t raped for years; he wasn’t gang-raped; he wasn’t betrayed by his once-fellow Death Eaters; he wasn’t raped by Death Eaters but by prison guards, who still have some limits to their cruelty and are more easily intimidated. I think you have every right to be more affected, more scared than Sirius. You only just escaped from Azkaban; Sirius has been out for several years. Give yourself more time.”  
  
David shuddered and seized Harry in a desperate embrace, sobbing into his shoulder. “What if time won’t help, Harry? What if I won’t get better?”  
  
“Then you’ll still have me,” Harry murmured. “And you already got better. You allow people to touch you.”  
  
“Only you, I only feel safe with you, sometimes,” David muttered derisively. “Because you’re my Patronus.”  
  
“And you know that I’m a wizard, a man, potentially dangerous to you,” Harry said softly. “Do not belittle the progress you have made, David. I believe in you and for as long as you don’t believe in yourself, that’ll just have to be enough.”  
  
“Sorry for that kiss,” David whispered, still clutching onto Harry.  
  
“It’s no problem,” Harry answered soothingly. “I don’t mind, though I could imagine you’d find another willing kissing partner if you wanted to.”  
  
“You mean Draco.”  
  
“You noticed?”  
  
“It was hard to miss. He’s been leering at me throughout the training.” A shudder went through David’s slender body. “And of course, his father is happy to play matchmaker because Malfoys always get what they want.”  
  
“He won’t get you if you don’t want to,” Harry replied, rubbing the older man’s back.  
  
“Why would I want to?”  
  
“He’s good-looking, even I have to admit that, and I like him about as much as the dirt under my shoes. Plus, he’s young and so if you break his heart he’ll get over it.” Harry shrugged.  
  
“You mean to say that I could safely experiment with him,” David stated with a grimace.  
  
“Why not? It might be good to test your progress,” Harry explained. “And I think he could help you realise that you’re still loveable and attractive.”  
  
“And you suggest Malfoy Jr. of all people.” David arched an eyebrow. “That brat will throw a tantrum as soon as something doesn’t go his way.”  
  
“Well, let him,” Harry said simply. “If he gets too annoying you can walk away and if he gets too audacious you can hex him.”  
  
“I already know that I don’t want him anywhere near me, in touching vicinity,” David argued. “And if I only want to hex him I can propose a duel.”  
  
“I’m not talking about touching,” Harry protested. “I think it would be good for you to have someone who’ll flatter and compliment you. And isn’t that what Malfoys are all about? Drowning everyone in their charm?”  
  
“I guess,” the older man muttered, lying down on the bed. “I guess it would feel nice to have someone’s positive attention, even if it’s only Draco. At least, he’s no real threat.”  
  
Harry also lay down, linking his hands with David’s. “I would feel better if I knew that you weren’t all alone here, sulking in your rooms and falling into depression.”  
  
“When are you going back?”   
  
“After I’ve seen Madam Pomfrey.” Harry rolled his eyes. “Or Remus won’t stop nagging me. The full moon is Sunday night.”  
  
“Can you wait until Friday to see her? Otherwise I can bring you up to the healer ward,” David offered, furrowing his brow in concern.  
  
“It’s only one day longer. I think I might just survive,” Harry said sarcastically.  
  
“What about the Dark Lord?” David asked.  
  
Harry sighed. “I guess I never had the option to stay neutral, did I? I don’t want Voldemort to destroy everything just because he has too much hate and bitterness in the place where his heart should be, so I guess I’ll compromise and do what I can to temper him down.”  
  
“I thought you wanted to stay with those werewolves,” David said.  
  
“Actually, it’s more Fenrir that wants me to stay, and he’s pretty much the only one. I’m afraid I’m rather useless to them, and a lot of trouble for Fenrir and Remus.” He grinned wryly. “You won’t mind if I stay here more often, will you?”  
  
“No, you don’t snore,” David answered dryly, and Harry couldn’t help but chuckle.  
  
“I have some Dreamless Sleep Potions for you,” Harry murmured. “When your nightmares get too bad. I’ll take care of you, you know?”  
  
“I know, Patronus.” David squeezed his hand. “And about Black, let Lupin handle him. At least until you feel more like you’ll be able to forgive him.”  
  
“Thanks.” Harry smiled gratefully at the other man, transformed into his wolf form and allowed himself to be pulled into David’s arms.


	13. Invincibility

Harry was really getting annoyed with all this throwing up. Nervousness, stomach bug, wrong diet, poison, he had considered and dismissed each and every option. He wasn’t nervous anymore, he didn’t really feel sick, his diet had always been wrong, and he doubted that Voldemort would poison him just for fun.  
  
He bent over the toilet again and reconsidered. He wouldn’t put it past the sick bastard.  
  
“Harry.” There was a knock on the door. “Harry, are you sure you’re okay?”  
  
Harry wiped his mouth, sitting back on his haunches. “I’ll be right out, don’t worry.” He felt slightly dizzy. Maybe he really was sick?  
  
A look in the mirror told him that he didn’t look his best, either. He was pale, there were dark circles under his eyes and his cheekbones were even more pronounced. He closed his eyes, but opened them immediately again, trying to avoid the flashes of last night’s nightmare. Blood. Bones. Pain. Death. Betrayal. Okay, maybe he still was troubled. Maybe he hadn’t resolved all issues yet. It could be a nervous stomach.  
  
He splashed some cold water into his face and rinsed his mouth, making himself feel at least marginally better. His stomach was cramping. Tomorrow he’d let Madam Pomfrey examine him. She’d be able to heal him or at least prescribe him a potion.  
  
David, Sirius and Remus were waiting for him in the other room since they had wanted to go down to breakfast together. Harry didn’t feel like eating or seeing Voldemort and the other Death Eaters, but he had agreed. He didn’t know why. Remus looked like he wanted to comment on Harry’s prolonged stay in the bathroom, but Harry pleadingly shook his head and then hugged him.  
  
“Let’s have breakfast, okay?”  
  
“Are you sure-”  
  
“Yes, quite. Thank you, Sirius,” Harry interrupted him, biting the inside of his cheek at his own harsh tone. “Let’s go.”  
  
They went downstairs to a hall next to the Throne Room where breakfast was served. The Death Eaters were sitting around a long table, talking in subdued voices, but all in all seemed more intent on following the table manners than the conversations around them.  
  
“Harry Potter, what a pleasant surprise for you to decide to join us.” Voldemort motioned him to a chair beside him.  
  
Harry considered ignoring him – out of principle - but then again, with Voldemort’s love of hearing his own voice, he wouldn’t be forced to say much and that sounded rather good. Voldemort immediately started to rattle on about something or other, and Harry gave a half-hearted nod or snort every once in a while, glaring at all the food around him. It didn’t help that Voldemort was eating a sandwich with a strong, and in Harry’s opinion, vile-smelling cheese. Lucius, opposite of him, was creating an artful tower of pancakes before eating it slowly and elegantly. David was sitting next to Harry - scrambled eggs and bacon - and tried to avoid Draco’s piercing gaze and attempts of conversation. From time to time, his fingers would dig into Harry’s thigh and Harry would squeeze back reassuringly until David loosened his grip again.  
  
“Would you care to sit in on the meeting I’ll be having with the German Chancellor today?” Voldemort asked, taking a sip of black coffee.  
  
Harry looked up blearily; his vision was fuzzy. “To make a treaty?”  
  
“Something along those lines,” Voldemort agreed. “Though I’m officially meeting the Head of a foreign government as Head of this government.”  
  
“And what is my role in this newest scheme of yours?” Harry demanded sarcastically. “Why should I be there?”  
  
“Well, firstly because you’re my heir,” Voldemort said, and Harry snorted.  
  
“You don’t have to repeat that every two minutes.”  
  
“Apparently I do since you always forget it,” the Dark Lord replied evenly. “And secondly, because you also forget your reputation, and mine. I hope that your presence might help the Chancellor to feel more at ease.”  
  
“No dark lordish methods,” Harry demanded, and Voldemort smirked, but nodded.   
  
“Of course not,” he said, almost gently. “I’ll expect you at noon in my office, in respectable clothes. I’m sure Lucius and Draco will be glad to assist you in that matter.”  
  
“I can dress myself,” Harry protested, ignoring Draco’s disbelieving snort.  
  
“Like a rag doll,” Draco taunted. “Though, I doubt that even the most fashionable clothes could make a person presentable if they’re lacking a sort of natural grace.”  
  
“You might find it surprising, Malfoy, but looking presentable or possessing a natural grace is not everyone’s aim in life. Some of actually want to be liked for our inner values,” Harry returned evenly. “As long as I don’t wear a constant sneer on my face, I think I’ll make a positive impression on the Chancellor.”  
  
“I know you will,” Voldemort cut Draco’s retort short. “But Muggle clothes won’t do, neither will these oversized clothes you insist on wearing.”  
  
“They serve their purpose,” Harry said stubbornly. “If you want to play dress-up you can do so on your own. Or ask either Malfoy, I’m sure they’ll be just delighted.”  
  
“We have a rather good seamstress house-elf,” Voldemort continued unperturbed. “She’ll bring you some fitting clothing.”  
  
Harry growled, feeling David’s hand rub his thigh. “Would you like to duel before you have to get ready, Harry? I rather enjoyed our little sparring yesterday. You managed to get my mind off things. Maybe I can do the same for you.”  
  
The black-haired young man sighed but nodded, pushing his plate away in disgust. “Will you help me pick out some clothes?”  
  
“Sure, if you trust in my sense of style.” David grimaced.  
  
Harry shrugged. “You’re pureblood. You’d know what to wear at such an official occasion, wouldn’t you?”  
  
“It’s been a while, Harry,” David amended, a grimace flitting over his face. “But I guess I could help you.”  
  
“Thank you.” Harry smiled. “So, is there something I should know about Germany?”  
  
Lucius was the one who answered. “They were deeply affected by Grindelwald’s reign. Their wizarding population was heavily decimated, and they are only slowly recovering their numbers and self-confidence. They are afraid of bringing another Dark Lord, another war, onto themselves, and so their pacifism sometimes borders on passiveness. They tend to keep out of international conflicts afraid of choosing the wrong side.”  
  
“Military speaking, they are no force to be reckoned with, though their economic power is quite remarkable and should they decide to restrict their trading relationships with us, it would jeopardise how fast we can repair the damages left by the war,” Voldemort added.  
  
“Then we’ll convince the Chancellor of my good intentions,” Harry concluded, scowling when Voldemort looked as if he was going to argue. “I’m not sure your intentions are even in the vicinity good so it’ll be impossible for me to convince anyone of it.”  
  
“Your good intentions it is then,” Voldemort answered, reaching for another cheese sandwich.  
  
“Shall we go?” Harry said to David, looking hopefully at the older man, but his silent plea wasn’t answered fast enough.  
  
“Harry,” the young man turned half-heartedly to Sirius, who had called his name. “I was wondering... You know, if maybe we could talk? I realise I’m not your favourite person right now, but I want to make it up to you, and I can’t do that if you avoid me.”  
  
Harry was saved from an answer when almost half a dozen Death Eaters suddenly turned green in the face, and it wasn’t the vague, sickly green Harry had sported all throughout breakfast, but rather the vibrant green of woodruff jelly. Yelps and shouts could be heard, alerting everyone to the prank; Harry was the first to chuckle.  
  
“For you, little brother,” a voice whispered in Harry’s ear, and when he glanced over his shoulder, his gaze was caught by warm hazel eyes. “To see you smile once more.”  
  
“You’re in trouble, and it will be me who has to save your asses once more,” Harry replied, trying to sound more annoyed than amused.  
  
Before Fred could reply, Voldemort stood up, demanding silence. “Who is responsible for this disturbance?”  
  
“I think you should ask who should be credited with this entertaining distraction,” Harry intervened, casually leaning back in his chair.   
  
“I don’t find this amusing, Potter.” Voldemort sneered.   
  
“Well, you’ve never been renowned for your sense of humour, have you?” Harry replied innocently. “Besides, it will teach them two important lessons.”  
  
“And those would be?” Voldemort demanded.  
  
“First of all, to check their food and drinks to see if they have been tampered with, and secondly, to not take themselves quite as seriously,” Harry explained sweetly. “Besides, your anger is giving me a headache, and that’s not the best way to assure my loyalty.”  
  
Voldemort’s face darkened. “I’m going to ask one more time. Who did this?”  
  
“Voldemort...”  
  
“Who?” His voice was but a hiss.  
  
Harry opened his mouth to protest, but David harshly dug his fingers into his thigh, sending him a warning glare.   
  
“Severus!” Voldemort glared at the Potion’s Master. “How could this happen? You have complete control over the potions ingredients and potions, so you must know how the concoction that is undoubtedly responsible for this mess got into our food. Tell me a name or you will be held responsible.”  
  
“My Lord.” Snape’s voice held a hint of mocking, but not enough to be taken as disrespect. “This peculiar effect can be easily achieved by mixing ginger into a Dreamless Sleep Potion. And I wonder why it is that Potter looks like he didn’t get a snatch of sleep even though I sent him ten vials of Dreamless Sleep just yesterday. I suppose he must have been otherwise occupied...”  
  
Harry’s lips quirked in amusement. “Seems like you found your culprit then, Voldemort. Now, what are you going to do?”  
  
“I wasn’t finished, Potter,” Snape spoke up once more. “I would indeed suggest you, if I hadn’t borne witness to your desolate performance in my class.”  
  
Harry snorted. “I’m sorry to disillusion you, Professor, but I’m very well able to add ginger to an already finished potion.”  
  
“That, I guess, may just still be within the range of your abilities,” Snape taunted. “But I fear, knowing that you would have to add ginger is entirely beyond your potions knowledge.”  
  
“How very flattering.” Harry rolled his eyes. “I guess I’m off the hook.”  
  
“Who did it?” Voldemort twirled his wand menacingly between his long spidery fingers, ignoring Harry’s words completely. “I won’t ask again, Severus.”  
  
“We’re responsible,” Fred and George answered, softly but proudly. “We pulled this prank, my Lord.” Harry resisted the urge to bang his head against the table, pull his hair or imitate Dobby in any other way or form.  
  
“And they are my friends.” He protectively moved in front of them. “Remember your vow, Voldemort.”  
  
“I only wanted to **thank** them,” Voldemort hissed, towering over Harry and tilting Harry’s face up. “You can hardly object to that, can you, Harry Potter?”  
  
The black-haired boy glared defiantly. “You won’t hurt them. I don’t agree with your methods of disciplining, as you well know.”  
  
“That is of little consequence as they agreed to them when they decided to stay here,” Voldemort returned coldly, cupping Harry’s face mockingly. “Do choose your fights more wisely, Potter. They aren’t in deadly danger.”  
  
“Harry, he’s right. Let us handle this,” George murmured behind him. “We only wanted to make you smile and we accomplished that. Don’t ruin it now by taking the consequences for us.”  
  
“You don’t have a fucking clue what you’re talking about. You won’t get off easy like Percy did,” Harry protested. “I won’t stand by and watch as he tortures you,”   
  
“Then go, Harry,” Fred insisted. “Our Lord just told you that he wouldn’t kill us, so you don’t have to worry. And we’ll have to learn eventually what it means to be Death Eaters. Why not now?”  
  
“I hate it when you team up against me.” Harry scowled at them. “And that you decided to collaborate with Voldemort doesn’t make it any better.”  
  
The twins sent him identical smirks before Fred pulled him into a brief hug and pushed him towards the door, slapping his bottom. “Off you go, little brother.”  
  
“Don’t make me regret this,” Harry muttered to Voldemort, but brushed past him, leaving the hall.  
  
“Harry, wait!” Sirius ran after him, calling his name, and Harry suppressed a groan. “Can we talk?”  
  
“Sure,” Harry said unenthusiastically, shuffling his feet. “What do you want to talk about?”  
  
“Harry, I want you to know how sorry I am-”  
  
“Sirius, it’s fine. I said so already,” Harry interrupted him, walking a little faster as if to leave that conversation behind him. “I know you’re sorry.”  
  
“But, Harry...” Sirius’ expression was one of kicked puppy, and Harry’s annoyance rose. “You’re acting different.”  
  
“Sirius, damn you, what do you expect of me?” Harry glared. “Everything to go back to how it was? Should I just ignore the fact that you killed my family? Should I just ignore what you had to go through in Azkaban? You’re not the man I thought I knew, Sirius.”  
  
Sirius’ face fell and Harry felt guilt squeeze his heart. “You know me, Harry, please, you’re the most important person in my life, please.”  
  
“Sirius, I thought you were dead. Then I thought you were a cold-blooded murderer, and now I no longer know what to think,” Harry murmured. “This is too much for me right now, Sirius. On the one hand, I want to help you, but another part of me wished you had stayed dead.”  
  
The older man winced, but then nodded in understanding, trying himself at an accepting smile. “I deserved that. You’ve every right to feel that way. But maybe with time...? Remus asked me to come with you to the werewolf pack he’s living with now, but in view of this conversation, I think I’ll stay here at the castle. This way, if you want to see, curse or talk to me, I’ll be available without getting on your nerves otherwise.”  
  
“Thank you, Sirius, I would appreciate that,” Harry said softly. “Just promise me, promise me that you’ll still be there when I’m ready. Don’t do something stupid.”  
  
“I won’t, Harry, not this time,” Sirius promised, holding Harry’s gaze without blinking.  
  
Harry nodded in satisfaction, brought himself to give his godfather a short hug and turned away, leaving as quickly as possible. He felt drained, but also relieved because of Sirius’, for once, mature reaction. Time. He needed time. Time to come to terms with what he had learned, time to sort out his feelings, time to heal and to recover. Right now he felt too hurt, too unsettled, too numb. Too sick.  
  
“Potter!” Harry didn’t suppress his groan this time.   
  
“What do you want, Malfoy?”  
  
“David asked me to pass on a message to you,” the Malfoy heir told Harry, who arched an eyebrow. “He’s expecting you in the duelling room.”  
  
“Oh, it that so?” Harry asked sceptically.  
  
“Yes, and it is so terribly rude of you to keep him waiting.” Draco smirked unpleasantly, aiming his wand at Harry’s chest. “But that is to be expected of you, isn’t it, Potter? I’ll just have to tell him that you’re too busy spreading your legs for everyone to make it. And I’ll be so considerate as to help him pass the time. _Stupor!_ ” Harry fell with a silent thud.  
  
Draco levitated Harry’s immobile form with an imperious swish of his wand, setting him down in a nearby broom closet. He tugged an old curtain over him, smirking at Harry before he covered his face. He looked smug. Harry could hear the door click shut and a whispered Locking Charm before quick steps told him that Draco was leaving.  
  
Harry sat up with a smirk of his own. Draco should really have checked if his curse had hit, if Harry hadn’t put up shields in time to block it. Not very Slytherin. Harry absently plucked a spider’s web out of his raven hair and brushed off his clothes. Draco hadn’t even taken his wand, but he guessed that was not only due to negligence because if his wand had been found with Draco, he would have been compromised. Harry still thought that Draco’s plan, as amusing as it was, was lacking in the way it had been implemented.   
  
He unlocked the door, but left it closed. Instead he undressed and carefully bundled his clothes, hiding his wand in the middle. He then transformed into his Animagus form, carrying the bundle in his mouth. He wasn’t going to thwart Draco’s ingenious plan just yet, but he would keep an eye on him.  
  
ö_ö_ö  
  
David noticed the white wolf when he slipped into the duelling room and lay down under a table, but didn’t miss a beat in his duel against Draco. The blond was hardly able to keep up with master duellist, barely ducking and shielding himself against the fast spells. He had already given up on the offence. Soon after, David had him disarmed.  
  
“Salazar, David, you’re brilliant,” Draco said with an admiring smile, sitting on the floor with elegant nonchalance as if he had always intended to end up there. “How did you ever get this good?”  
  
“I had the right motivation,” David said shortly. “Are you ready?”  
  
Draco’s smile turned apologetic. “I’m afraid you quite completely tired me out. Maybe if you give me a moment.”  
  
“I’m sure Harry will show up soon,” David replied dismissively, drinking a bit of water, more to give himself something to do than out of thirst.  
  
“I’m afraid he was quite busy with Black,” Draco answered. “They were headed for Potter’s rooms and... I hope I don’t overstep any bounds by saying this, but they seemed rather **focused** on each other.” Draco sent David a significant look, and Harry felt a strange mix of anger and amusement. “I’m sorry.”  
  
David arched an eyebrow. “And why would this information upset me, Mr. Malfoy? I believe Harry quite capable of making such decisions for himself.”  
  
Draco shrugged eloquently. “I assumed that you would mind if your lover amused himself elsewhere.”  
  
“Assuming is for those who don’t know,” the grey-haired man replied in a hard voice. “My relationship with Harry is no concern to you.”  
  
“Please, call me Draco,” the blond said. “And I didn’t mean to pry. It was just hard to miss Severus’ comment this morning. Care to help me up?”  
  
David didn’t care to, crossing his arms over his chest. The young Malfoy sighed and smoothly got to his feet, approaching the older man. “I can’t understand Potter. Why would he fool around with Black if he has someone as handsome and charismatic as you?”  
  
David took a step back to keep himself out of Draco’s reach. “I don’t appreciate empty flattery, Mr. Malfoy.”  
  
“Draco.”  
  
David glared at him, and Draco sighed once again. “Maybe you will believe how true those words are to me if I have them followed by actions.”   
  
He took a quick step forward, into David’s personal space, and wrapped one arm around David’s waist, the other going to the older man’s neck to bring him into the perfect position for a kiss. David seemed to have frozen in shock, but Harry heard a small whimper, when Draco’s tongue pushed into his mouth and Draco’s hand started to massage the slighter man’s butt.  
  
Harry had seen enough. Draco was going too far, too soon and Harry needed to stop this. With a deep, warning growl he erupted from underneath the table and viciously tugged Draco away from his friend, not caring in the least that his teeth grazed Draco’s leg through his pants.  
  
“What the...?” Draco sputtered, finding himself, from one moment to the next, pushed to the floor with a furious looking wolf standing protectively between him and his crush. “Where did that wolf come from?”  
  
Harry answered him with a deep, menacing growl, his sharp canines flashed threateningly in his direction. Draco scooted away from him, fumbling for his wand, but soon had to realise that David still had it.  
  
“David... Help me!” Harry snarled at the demanding tone, snapping for Draco’s leg, and the blond scrambled further away, closer to the door. “David...”  
  
Harry barked, and Draco fled the room with one last pleading look at the still petrified Death Eater. At first, David didn’t react, either, when Harry pressed his cold snout into the palm of his hand, nudging it slightly. Suddenly, however, he collapsed to his knees, pulling the wolf into his arms and sobbing into his fur. Harry allowed it easily, purring soothingly and nuzzling his neck.  
  
“No, no, no, no, no. Not again. Not here. No, no, no,” David muttered, rocking himself and Harry. “They’re dead. No, no, no. Can’t hurt me. No, no. Please, no.”  
  
Harry’s heart clenched painfully at the miserable sight, wishing he could do more than just be there. He should have intervened earlier, protected David better, made sure that Draco couldn’t scare him. But Draco’s flattery had seemed harmless; David had clearly been the one in control, and Harry had thought it would be good for him. David’s sobs and his litany of no’s told him how wrong he had been.  
  
It was a long time, but finally David’s mutters stopped, and he rearranged his legs around Harry so that it was more comfortable for both of them. He began to rub Harry’s black-rimmed ears, grimacing a little when Harry rumbled happily.  
  
“Thanks.” Harry licked his cheek and since he had a feeling that David needed him in his wolf form for a bit longer, he rolled onto his back with the clear message that David should rub his belly.   
  
David huffed out a laugh for his efforts, but then his expression turned into a scowl. “He shouldn’t have done this. I didn’t want him to. I didn’t ask for that.”  
  
Harry yipped in agreement.  
  
“And I didn’t like his compliments and I don’t like him,” David continued agitatedly. “I tried, Harry, but the progress you mentioned - it just isn’t there.”   
  
The wolf glared reproachfully at him because he couldn’t argue in this form, and David grimaced.   
  
“It just isn’t for me, little Patronus. I’d rather avoid a repeat performance. You want to say something?”  
  
Harry rolled a bit away from David and turned back into human form, folding his legs to his chest. “Yes, and I don’t agree. So what if you had a panic attack? That happens, you were doing fine until Malfoy thought he had to act like the complete gigolo he undoubtedly wants to be.”  
  
“But I didn’t like his flirtation even before that,” David argued. “Why would I want to subject myself to this torture if I can avoid it, which I can?”  
  
“Then run away.” Harry shrugged. “Run from your fears, if you really think that will help you to live a normal life again. I thought that is what you wanted?”  
  
“Yes, but...” David faltered. “I don’t think I can.”  
  
“I do,” Harry said softly, squeezing David’s hand. “But maybe you’re right and you need a bit more time. And Malfoy might not be the best choice for taking it slow.”  
  
“Little snot,” David said in conclusion, and Harry grinned.   
  
“Indeed, so how about a real duel now?”  
  
“Why didn’t you come earlier?” David asked while Harry got dressed.  
  
Harry laughed. “Malfoy thought it a good idea to stupefy me so he would get to spend time with you. He really is a rather mediocre duellist, though the idea was rather romantic, in a stalkerish kind of way.”  
  
David grunted, bowing to initiate their duel. Harry bowed back, his wand at the ready.


	14. Peace

Harry was in his rooms, trying on the new robes, shirts and dress pants that the house-elves had brought for him under David’s critical gaze. David had very clear expectations as to how Harry should dress: formal but not too stiff, elegant but also sportive. He didn’t want Harry to wear too loose or too tight clothes. But the most difficult thing was to find colours David didn’t object to. Black was out of the question, he said, because it symbolised death, which would already be amply represented by Voldemort. White would only be used for ceremonies and rituals; red was too aggressive; green too Slytherin for Harry; blue too traditional and therefore not fitting in this situation as they wanted to propose a new era. Harry tugged his hair in exasperation when David turned down one more outfit.  
  
“David,” he whined, “I’ll have to go naked if you continue like this. The colour scheme can’t be that important.”  
  
“But it is. You have to send the right message. The wrong clothes might be disastrous for the outcome of your meeting,” David argued, sifting through another pile of clothes.  
  
“I’m sure the house-elves wouldn’t have sent me these clothes if they weren’t okay,” Harry protested.  
  
The Death Eater snorted. “Have you seen how your friend, that free house-elf, dresses? Mismatched socks, several layers of clothes, tea cosies, oven gloves-”  
  
“Okay, okay, I get it,” Harry grumbled. “But-”  
  
A knock interrupted his plea for David to come to a decision without Harry having to try on twenty more outfits, and he gratefully opened the door, though his enthusiasm dimmed considerably when he saw who stood on the other side of it.  
  
“Malfoy, what do you want? Come to hex me again?” Harry’s lips quirked into a sarcastic smile.  
  
“I went to that closet, but you weren’t there,” the blond young man said almost accusingly, and Harry snorted.  
  
“Did you expect me to wait for you to come back? I’m afraid I had better things to do. What do you want, Malfoy?”  
  
“First I would like to come in,” the blond said, brushing past him. “I’d rather discuss my concern in private.”  
  
“With me?” Harry asked in disbelief, noting that David had slipped into the bathroom so that Malfoy wouldn’t see him. “What could you possible want to discuss with me?”  
  
“What is your relationship with David?” Draco demanded, staring at Harry.  
  
“Really, Malfoy, I’m not in the mood for playing twenty questions so if you could just get to the point?” Harry rolled his eyes. “Who I’m friends with is hardly your business.”  
  
“Friends.” Hopefulness and then firmness entered Draco’s voice. “That’s good. I’ve come to ask a favour, Potter, concerning David.”  
  
“And why would I want to do you of all people a favour?” Harry asked sarcastically, though inside he was enjoying himself immensely.  
  
“Because, for the longest time, you were a Gryffindor, someone prone to doing chivalrous things and following not only your heart but also helping others to follow theirs,” Malfoy replied with only a hint of mocking in his voice. “The favour concerns my heart.”  
  
“For the existence of which I have yet to see proof,” Harry retorted. “And even if I were still concerned with other people’s hearts, yours would be at the very bottom of the list. And even if I wanted to help you, why would you assume that I can do so?”  
  
“Don’t play stupid, Potter.” Draco nervously tapped his fingers on his thigh. “You know what I want and you know that you can help me.”  
  
“Do I? Why don’t you humour me?” Harry asked. “Spell this out for me.”  
  
“I want you to help me with David,” Draco pressed out between his teeth. “I see how close you two are.”  
  
“Ah, I don’t think I want to do that.” Harry smirked. “You might be interested in David, but the feelings are hardly mutual.”  
  
“I’m not **interested** , Potter, I love David. I love him, Potter, from his mind over his body to his magic. I love everything about him.” Draco argued and then groaned when Harry still looked sceptical.   
  
“You’ve known him how long? One month, five weeks maybe, in which you have hardly seen him much less spoken to him? And already you claim to be madly and irrevocably in love with him?” Harry shook his head. “I find that hard to believe.”  
  
“True love doesn’t need but a second,” Draco said earnestly, but Harry snorted. “I do not expect you to believe me or be able to relate to what I just said, Potter, but I dare say you don’t have much insight knowledge of this particular subject.”  
  
“Insulting me is not the best way of assuring my cooperation,” Harry pointed out.  
  
“It wasn’t meant as an insult, and I apologise if you interpreted it as such,” Draco replied swiftly and politely and Harry, for the first time, had the sneaking suspicion that the blond was more than serious with this plan of his. “I merely wanted to express my doubts about the experience you had so far with what is commonly referred to as love. I understand that your family was not the best, and from what I heard, your romantic escapades all ended before they had really begun.”  
  
“Gee, thanks, Malfoy, that’s one way of saying that I’m a loser when it comes to relationships.” Harry rolled his eyes.  
  
“You misunderstand me again. What I intended to say was that you haven’t found the right person yet. I have, but he won’t give me the time of the day without your help. And the fact alone that I came to **you** must tell you how desperate I am.”  
  
“How does he like his coffee?”  
  
“Black, two cubes of sugar, a shot of firewhiskey if he can get away with it,” Draco said without missing a beat. “He prefers scrambled eggs to boiled or fried eggs, bacon to ham, steak to sausages. He eats at least one sweet every day; his favourite is treacle tart. His favourite colour is light blue, though he wears mostly blacks and browns. He went to Slytherin; his favourite subject was Arithmancy; his least favourite Defence against the Dark Arts because he never considered it useful and always like the actual Dark Arts better. He’s forty-two. His hair used to be brown. His eyes have different colours: his right one is blue the left one greenish grey. He needs to eat more and drink less.” A scowl flickered over Draco’s face. “He doesn’t take good care of himself, and I know that something horrible must have happened to him in Azkaban.”  
  
“And what do you think that was?” Harry asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “What will you do if you find out and realise that you can’t handle it?”  
  
Draco inclined his head. “I have prepared myself for the worst case scenario and I think I will be able to handle just about everything. If I can’t deal with it on my own, I’ll see to it that David gets the help he needs elsewhere.”  
  
“And who is to say that your worst case scenario is really the worst thing that could have happened?” Harry demanded, and Draco smirked wryly.  
  
“My father is a Death Eater, Potter, and I’ve been privy to a lot of information that gave me nightmares. I think I have a fairly good idea what might have happened and I’m determined to stand by David’s side. I love him, Potter, and I think you’re the only one he currently lets close enough to influence him.”  
  
“Maybe he only lets me close because he knows that I **won’t** influence him,” Harry returned. “And I’m not willing to jeopardise his trust in me - even if you were rather convincing.”  
  
Draco’s hands clenched into fists. “Please, Potter. I flattered him, I hung around him, I gave him space, I enlisted my father’s help, I waited for him to make the first step, I made the first step, I was blunt and I was subtle and whatever I did it either earned me ignorance or his contempt at best. I don’t know what to do anymore.”  
  
“I heard that patience is considered a virtue,” Harry mused. “You don’t seem to possess even a grain of it.”  
  
“Potter.” Draco was grinding on his very last shred of politeness and dignity. “Please.”  
  
Harry sighed. “Did you not realise that I already tried to help you, Malfoy? I asked David to give you a chance, and you squandered it by rushing things and overwhelming him. Even if I thought that you would be good for him, I’m not sure I could convince him to try once more.”  
  
Draco’s shoulders acquired a very un-Malfoy-like slump, and Harry felt something like sympathy for the only slightly older boy. “I had to try at least. Thanks for your attention.”  
  
He turned to go, but something compelled Harry to grab his arm. “Wait, Malfoy. You better start running for cover now if this is all an act.” Harry closed his eyes so as not to see the hopefulness in Draco’s silver eyes. “I’ll talk to David, but I don’t promise you anything, and if he doesn’t want to give you one more chance, you will keep your distance, is that clear?”  
  
“I’m not sure...” Harry glared at him. “Perfectly.”  
  
“Good.” Harry nodded in satisfaction. “There will be some more conditions, though.”  
  
“Shoot.”  
  
“You won’t touch him without his express permission and with that I mean that the words actually have to pass his lips and not be written in his eyes or some such crap.” Harry waited for Draco to nod before he continued. “You’ll be the perfect gentleman. You won’t pry into his personal business nor will you pressure him into revealing more about himself than he’s comfortable with. And most importantly, you’ll accept a ‘no’ if he decides that he doesn’t want to meet with you anymore.”  
  
“Acceptable.” Draco was grinning now. “I actually hoped that he would agree to go on a date with me this weekend, but I’m open to any of his suggestions. I’m happy as long as I get to spend time with him. Thank you, Potter.”  
  
“It’s a bit early for that. I’ll explain the situation to him, but the decision will be his and his alone,” Harry argued, but Draco’s joy didn’t dim.  
  
“You were never one to disappoint me, Potter,” the blond stated confidently. “Annoy me and make me jealous, yes, but you never were a disappointment.”  
  
“Save your flattery for David,” Harry told him with a roll of his eyes. “You’ll get an owl if David wants to give you another chance. And now get lost.”  
  
“Thanks again.” Draco inclined his head before motioning to the pile of clothes. “The burgundy vest with a white shirt and black robes and dress pants will do fine. Golden cufflinks.”  
  
Before Harry could answer, Draco had swept out of the room.  
  
“He’s right.” Harry swivelled around to stare at David in surprise.  
  
“So you want to go out with Malfoy?” Harry asked.  
  
“No, he was right about the clothes,” David corrected. “Wine red symbolises life without being too aggressive and with a white shirt, it won’t look too dark. Try it on.”  
  
Harry grumbled, but gathered the clothes. “I’ll get dressed, and you can think about everything else he said.”  
  
David grunted either in agreement or in distaste. Harry didn’t wait for a more eloquent reply, slipped into the bathroom and changed into the new set of clothes. He looked unfamiliar to his own eyes, too much like an adult, too serious. His skin looked even paler, almost clammy and not at all healthy. He scowled at himself in the mirror, ran a slightly shaky hand through his wild hair and ignored the nausea and stomach cramps. He was getting used to them. Maybe he could save himself the trip to Madam Pomfrey? He really didn’t want to stir up another part of his part, re-encounter another old friend though he had always trusted the nurse. And that had been a mistake.  
  
He forcefully turned his thoughts to something else. Or rather someone. Fenrir. A happy smile spread over his face as he thought of the werewolf and what he would have to say about his new outfit. Maybe he would like it, maybe he wouldn’t, but in any event, Harry would be without clothes before long. As his mind supplied him with several more promising images, he was shocked to realise that he missed Fenrir and that he would love nothing more than to apparate to him and make his fantasies come true. Which was a ludicrous idea, at best. If he wasn’t careful, he’d turn into Ginny. He shuddered.  
  
“I don’t believe him,” David greeted him when he came back the main room. “He’s a Malfoy; they are good at charming their way out of difficult situations and into people’s minds.”  
  
“I do,” Harry stated, swirling around with spread arms so that David could admire him. “What do you say?”  
  
“Looks good to me.” David nodded. “Just don’t fiddle with your robes and you’ll be fine.”  
  
“Will you?” Harry asked, sitting down on the sofa and waiting for the older man to join him. “Do you want to consider it?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Will you?”  
  
“I might.” David sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I don’t like the whole idea but I appreciate the ground rules you set. At least I’ll have a bit of peace to make up my mind without him popping up every few minutes. And it might not be too horrible if he can’t touch me.”  
  
“You’ll still have to talk to him,” Harry offered with a smirk. “Do you think you can manage that?”  
  
David arched an eyebrow. “Are you saying that I’m not a good conversationalist?”  
  
Harry chuckled. “Oh, I love talking with you, but you’ve been rather harsh to Malfoy so far.”  
  
“And you think I should change that if I go on a date with him?” David asked, and Harry laughed again.  
  
“That might be recommendable, yes, unless you want to scare Malfoy off with horrid conversation.”  
  
“I’ll think about it and I’ll send him an owl when I have decided,” David concluded, earning himself a smile. “You should go now, or you will be late for the meeting.”  
  
ö_ö_ö  
  
Harry had stopped listening to the conversation over one hour ago, and his only aim right now was not to look too bored. Judging by how often Voldemort was sending him warning glances, he wasn’t very successful. It was just so boring! So many inane pleasantries, so much small talk. And he was famished! As if on cue, and to Harry’s utter embarrassment, his stomach grumbled loudly and everyone turned to him, Voldemort, the German Chancellor and his assistant.  
  
“How impolite of us to talk and talk and ignore the well-being of our youngest,” the Chancellor, Günther Kraus, a man with slightly too much stomach and slightly too little hair, said in a vaguely patronising tone. “Maybe we should take a break before we continue our negotiations?”  
  
“That won’t be necessary,” Harry protested, mentally shuddering at the thought of dragging the meeting out even longer. “Don’t let me distract you.”  
  
“All this talk about politics must be dreadfully boring for you, Mr. Potter,” Kraus argued. “Why, when I think of my youth, that was certainly the last thing on my mind.”  
  
“This meeting is of essential importance to what will happen in my country, Mr. Kraus,” Harry rebutted softly. “Shall we continue?”  
  
Harry was surprised and grateful when Voldemort nodded graciously, but conjured up a plate with little sandwiches, slices of fruit and an assortment of cheese. His stomach rumbled once more.  
  
The rest of the negotiations were much easier to bear, and by the time the Chancellor and his assistent got up, Harry had eaten almost all the snacks. For the first time in days, he felt really good.  
  
They signed a magical peace treaty that would assure no violent actions between their countries as long as no civilians were killed. The consequences would be dire should one party willingly break the contract.   
  
“We don’t want another Grindelwald,” Kraus said when he shook Harry’s hand. “Committing suicide was the most decent thing he ever did. I hope that now that it is really over, Muggleborns will be more willing to join the magical community.”  
  
Harry bit back a sarcastic comment Voldemort wouldn’t thank him for and forced an encouraging sympathetic smile on his face. “Our own problems run in the same direction. I hope we can help each other.”  
  
“I’m sure we will.” The older wizard smiled benignly at him. “Great Britain seems to be in good hands with you, Mr. Potter.”  
  
“In the very best, undoubtedly,” Voldemort intervened smoothly. “Chancellor, thank you for your time. I hope in future our meetings will be just as fruitful.”  
  
They exchanged a few more pleasantries, and Harry concluded that this long-windedness was the worst thing about politics. He hadn’t minded the actual negotiations so much, had even made a few suggestions of his own, but exchanging compliments which you had to first examine carefully for hidden meanings before you could accept them was something he didn’t particularly enjoy. Voldemort was good at it, though, and Harry had now a much better idea why he had been so popular in Hogwarts and why so many smart, powerful pureblood wizards had been ensnared by him. Voldemort was a master of this art, and Harry grudgingly admired him for it.  
  
“You did well,” Voldemort said when they were finally alone, conjuring another plate with sandwiches; Harry immediately helped himself to the food. “I would have had to use much more Calming Draught if you hadn’t been there.”  
  
“You drugged him,” Harry stated without surprise in his voice.  
  
“I hate to talk with people drenched in their own sweat of fear,” the Dark Lord replied. “It makes it so screamingly obvious that they are inferior to me. One of the reasons I always liked talking to you, Harry Potter.”  
  
“Flattering,” Harry muttered through his mouth full of sandwich. “Are we done then?”  
  
“I heard you got a new wand. Good.” Voldemort put the papers on his desk in order. “I knew it would pay off to keep Ollivander.”  
  
“ **You** knew?” Harry snorted. “ **You** wanted to kill them all.”  
  
“And I allowed you to deal with the prisoners, didn’t I?” Voldemort looked smug. “I knew you would be useful to me.”  
  
“Dream on. I’m not your toy.”  
  
“Did I say that?” Voldemort arched one too thin eyebrow. “You need to learn to read between the lines.”  
  
“And what is that supposed to mean?” Harry snapped, crossing his arms over his chest even though he would much rather slap the conceited wizard.  
  
“Exactly what it is supposed to mean.”  
  
Harry wanted to strangle him, slap him, hex him. Instead he took another sandwich, furiously stuffing it into his mouth. A look of disgust crossed Voldemort’s face.  
  
“I believe we are finished for today, yes,” the Dark Lord said. “I will keep you up to date about any further developments, but I trust there will be no complications with the other European countries.”  
  
“I thought you said Germany was just a small fish and of no importance,” Harry said suspiciously. “Why are you so sure the other countries will follow its lead?”  
  
“Because the German Chancellor is fairly competent and well-regarded. The others will trust his judgement and even if they don’t, they won’t want to risk a war if they can’t be sure of all their allies on the continent,” Voldemort explained. “I also suspect that they debated about what to do beforehand and the Chancellor was sent to test my intentions and gain more information.”  
  
“Why would he do that?” Harry asked. “Wouldn’t they have sent someone of less importance?”  
  
“That would have been an insult to me.” The Dark Lord sneered. “I do not negotiate with understudies. Besides, I granted him and his assistant diplomatic immunity.”  
  
“I wouldn’t have trusted in your word,” Harry argued stubbornly. “And I doubt there were many volunteers for that mission.”  
  
Voldemort inclined his head. “I doubt there were,” he conceded.   
  
Harry tapped his fingers impatiently on his thigh, waiting for a real answer that didn’t seem to be forthcoming any time soon. He had almost given up when Voldemort finally answered.  
  
“He wants to change things, but he can’t do that without the support of the other countries. He was earning himself respect and demonstrating his good intentions. A very Gryffindor thing to do.”  
  
“Of course, you’d see bravery as a bad thing,” Harry retorted.   
  
“On the contrary, bravery is something I always admired – even though, I never considered it for myself,” Voldemort argued. “It’s foolish acts of self-sacrifice I’m against. I trust you know the difference?”  
  
Harry snorted, took the plate of sandwiches and left without another word.


	15. Conceivability

Harry stared at Madam Pomfrey in utter disbelief.  
  
“But that can’t be! You must have made a mistake. It’s just not possible. You must be kidding me!” Harry thought that Madam Pomfrey had a weird and very disturbing way of getting her revenge. Losing the war had obviously left her with some hard feelings, and Harry was ready to acknowledge that her situation was difficult, but this was absurd!  
  
The nurse huffed. “I assure you, I didn’t make any mistake and I’m not in the habit of joking about my patients’ health. You, Mr. Potter, are two month pregnant.”  
  
“But I’m male!” Harry protested, waving agitatedly with his hands. “I have a cock and not that... female stuff. Men can’t get pregnant. Even I know that, so ha ha, good joke, let’s move on. What’s wrong with me?”  
  
“The stomach cramps you have been experiencing were due to your body adjusting to the pregnancy. The female stuff, as you so aptly put it, or rather the uterus and the placenta, were created to harbour your child and provide it with the necessary nutrients and hormones which will enable you to carry the child to terms,” Madam Pomfrey explained primly.  
  
Harry drew his knees to his chest in absolute helplessness. “But... But... This just can’t be true.”  
  
Madam Pomfrey chose not to answer, instead writing rapidly on her chart and from time to time muttering a charm over Harry to check something. Harry had the horrible feeling that she wasn’t joking. But it didn’t make sense, not in the least and not even with the doubtful benefit of magic usually not making any sense. Because it was Harry’s magic, Harry’s body, and if Harry prided himself on anything it was his absolute control over both. The thought of them changing without his consent, without his knowledge, was...   
  
He didn’t allow himself to finish the thought, instead reaching into himself, reaching for his magic. Madam Pomfrey might be lying, but his magic wouldn’t, couldn’t. What he found was disconcerting. The strong, warm pulse of his magic was no longer centred around his heart, protecting his life, but had moved lower. And beyond the always moving stream of his magic that now swirled in a lazy circle around his stomach area and spread through his bloodstream into every molecule of his body, there was an impenetrable barrier that wouldn’t budge even on Harry’s command. Well, damn!  
  
“So if I’m pregnant,” Harry murmured, gaining the nurse’s attention. “How is this supposed to work?”  
  
“You **are** pregnant, Mr. Potter,” she returned, and Harry nodded impatiently, jerkily. “Male pregnancies are in so far harder and more complicated as your body is under additional strain because it wasn’t built to bear children. But considering your magical strength, I don’t think this will be much of a problem for you. Nonetheless, you need to come by for regular check-ups. During the pregnancy, you’re not allowed to drink alcohol, smoke, take drugs or addictive potions, use spells to alter your appearance or body or duel without sufficient protection-”  
  
“That’s all very interesting,” Harry interrupted her. “But what I really want to know is how this baby is supposed to be born. How is it supposed to come out of me?” Harry was trying hard to keep the panic out of his voice.  
  
“By Caesarean, of course,” Madam Pomfrey replied. “As soon as you go into labour, you’ll be given a potion to dull the pain, but you’ll still be lucid while your child is born.”  
  
“Great,” Harry said, sarcasm lacing his voice, even though he didn’t feel all that sarcastic: scared, confused, nervous, helpless, happy, angry, undecided, stupid, yes, but not sarcastic. “So anything else?”  
  
Madam Pomfrey took that as her cue to cram all the necessary information into his head, about what would endanger and help him during the pregnancy, about what he should expect, about what would happen with his body and his baby. Harry tuned her out and resolved to buy the books she had recommended. Later. Right now, there was only one thing he needed to do, and the thought filled him with dread. Tell Fenrir.  
  
How would the werewolf react? Had Fenrir known that this could happen? Maybe, but then again maybe not. Harry wasn’t sure if he could convince Fenrir if the werewolf didn’t believe him. Harry found it hard to believe, and a part of him still hoped that this was an elaborate joke. But what would Fenrir say?   
  
Abortion was out of the question. Harry wouldn’t kill this child, whether or not it really existed. But would Fenrir accept that? Fenrir was big on pack loyalty, but would he want to be a father, have a child with Harry? What if he didn’t? What if he wouldn’t allow Harry to stay with him any longer? He couldn’t expect Remus to leave the pack just to support him, though he knew that his uncle would most likely insist on it. And what about Voldemort? He couldn’t risk the life of his child just to try to keep that maniac under control. Maybe he would have to leave England, but where would he go?   
  
His hero complex was coming to bite him in the ass. Since he had banned so many Light wizards from England and hadn’t restricted them to one country, they could be anywhere, and if he left England to get away from Voldemort and Fenrir, it would be like sending them all an open invitation to try to take their revenge on him. No, he would have to stay, keep all the possible dangers for his unborn child within sight.   
  
But would he have to? What would Fenrir say? He clenched his hands into fists. He would manage regardless, he told himself. It was not as if he was dependent on the older man, or in love with him. They had a nice arrangement, and it would be an inconvenience if Fenrir choose not to support him, but he would undoubtedly manage. That’s what he always did, wasn’t it?  
  
“Thanks, Madam Pomfrey.” Harry didn’t care that he had interrupted her midsentence. “I trust this will stay between us? Good.”  
  
She sputtered and glared at him, but he merely opened the door for her since she had come to his rooms to examine him. The formidable witch slapped the chart down on the table and strutted past him. Harry allowed himself to slump against the door for a moment before he grabbed his cloak and left his rooms and soon after the castle, heading for the anti-apparation wards.  
  
A deep breath and he whisked himself away, feeling the usual squishing and squeezing and jerking that caused his nausea to return tenfold. Was he still allowed to apparate? He nervously tugged on his robes, his hand ghosting over this flat stomach. But it hadn’t caused problems so far, it would be alright. Wouldn’t it?  
  
Fenrir’s massive form was moving towards him, and his dread rapidly grew into sheer panic. His hands were shaking, no, his whole body was shaking and his hands were clammy with sweat. Merlin, what would happen? Fenrir’s broad grin dimmed with every step he took towards Harry, and he sniffed suspiciously.  
  
“What happened, little thing?” He pulled Harry into a short embrace before holding him at arm’s length to be able to look into his eyes. “Why are you so nervous?”  
  
“We... I need to tell you something. In private.” Harry looked up pleadingly, wanting nothing more than to snuggle into Fenrir’s strong chest and let the beating of his heart tell him that everything would be okay. “Please.”  
  
Fenrir’s golden eyes narrowed suspiciously, and he briefly glanced over his shoulder at his pack that was sitting around the fire. “Tell me.”  
  
“They can hear us,” Harry protested. “Please, Fen. It’s important.”  
  
“Fine, come, small one,” Fenrir murmured, moving a heavy hand to Harry’s neck, squeezing too tightly to be traditionally comforting; but Harry appreciated the gesture.  
  
He was led to Fenrir’s hut, the thick wooden walls almost sound-proof unless one of the werewolves were to press his or her ear against them. Fenrir shut the door behind them and turned to Harry, arching one silver eyebrow when the younger man only shifted nervously.  
  
“Harry,” he grumbled impatiently, halting Harry’s movement by taking a hold of the narrow shoulders. “What is it?”  
  
“I have to tell you something...”  
  
“You said so already.” Harry glared at him. “Just spit it out.”  
  
“It’s not that easy, okay? Would you just shut up so that I can come up with the right words?”  
  
“I don’t care about the right words. I just want to know what is wrong with you.”  
  
“Nothing is wrong with me,” Harry snapped, and Fenrir cocked his head in surprise. “Fen, just... please. Give me a moment.”  
  
The werewolf nodded, starting to massage Harry’s tense shoulders until Harry took a deep breath and met his eyes again.  
  
“I went to Madam Pomfrey, the nurse Remus mentioned,” he said softly.  
  
“Are you sick, moonlight?” Fenrir asked with a growl in his voice as if he wanted to scare any potential sickness away.  
  
“No, not directly.” Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m kind of pregnant.”  
  
“What?” Fenrir whispered.  
  
“Apparently, wizards can get pregnant. I’m pregnant,” Harry repeated, trying to read the mixed emotions flitting over the werewolf’s face. “Fen?”  
  
He hoped for a grin, an outright laugh because he had fallen for that stupid joke. He expected disbelief, the furrow between Fenrir’s eyebrows that meant that Fenrir was thinking hard. He wished for a smile, a bit uncertain still, overwhelmed but overall accepting.   
  
What he got was an outburst. “You have to get rid of it.” Fenrir’s voice somersaulted, and he took a step towards Harry. “Immediately. You can’t have this child.”  
  
“What?” Harry whispered, wrapping his arms protectively around his stomach. “What are you talking about?”  
  
“Harry-”  
  
“Who the fuck do you think you are?!” Harry exploded. “I expected a lot of things from you, but this is lower than I thought you could possibly sink! This is my child, and if you don’t want to think of it as your own, I’m more than fine with that, but that gives you absolutely no right to demand that I get rid of it!”  
  
“Harry, you-” Fenrir reached out to him.  
  
“Don’t you dare touch me. All this talking that you cared and wanted me to be part of the pack. Such a fool to believe it! You can fuck yourself for all I care and rid myself of your presence in the progress because just looking at you makes me feel sick!”  
  
“Now lis--”  
  
“We’re done, Greyback. Just stay away from me and my child, and I might be able to leave you alive,” Harry spat and disappeared with a soft, angry plop, leaving Fenrir to his own tormented thoughts.  
  
Harry had got it all wrong.   
  
A second plop, and Fenrir looked up hopefully. He saw the fist for only a fraction of a second before it cracked against his cheekbone and split his lip. “Fucking asshole.”  
  
A third plop and Harry was gone again.  
  
ö_ö_ö  
  
Harry didn’t know how he had come to end up in his rooms in Voldemort’s headquarters, but he knew exactly why he felt so absolutely miserable. He had considered Fenrir not wanting the baby, but not seriously, not as a real possibility but more as his worst fear that would make all other outcomes look relatively manageable. He hadn’t expected this, and Fenrir’s angry demand left him floundering.  
  
He never thought, he’d have to feel this way again, like the freak of nature his relatives had always called him. Men were not supposed to be pregnant. Whatever Madam Pomfrey had told him, it just wasn’t normal. Freakish. He was angry at Fenrir, but most of all he was angry at himself for getting himself in yet another mess. He should have expected this; he had been happy and that was something that couldn’t be allowed to continue.   
  
Fenrir obviously hadn’t known either that it was possible for a wizard to get pregnant. But, Harry reminded himself, it was his body that was freakish so it would have been his responsibility to inform his lover of what could happen. Lover. There was very little love involved in what Fenrir and he had had. They hadn’t been lovers, not even friends as it had now turned out. The thought set off an avalanche of disgust. He was pregnant, and the only relationship he had to the father of his child was as former fuck buddies. Maybe that was a good thing. Less emotional baggage. It didn’t feel like a good thing.   
  
Once again, he had stumbled over his ignorance of the wizarding world. So much trouble could have been avoided if only he had read a couple of books, or listened more attentively to Hermione’s monologuing. His gaze wandered over to the small bookshelf at the left side of his room and its few meagre contents, but it didn’t matter anymore if this was merely a cruel joke. The damage had been done, and Harry couldn’t bring himself to care if his ignorance or his gullibility were responsible. Besides, deep down, he knew already.  
  
He curled up, his thin body wracked with dry sobs of unadulterated anguish. What should he do now? What? He was going to be a parent, and he had no place to go, no one to rely on, no means to earn his living, nothing. What should he do? His sobs finally turned into heaving, and before he could make even a move towards the bathroom, he had emptied the contents of his stomach on the carpet. The sight and smell of his own vomit made him feel even more miserable, and he rolled away from it, not able to summon the strength to vanish it.   
  
ö_ö_ö  
  
Fenrir absently rubbed his sore, rapidly healing cheek, his eyes wide in horror. What had he done? Goddess, what had he done? Condemned Harry to certain death, that’s what he had done! No! He snapped his hand away from his face and almost ran to the door, jerking it open. He still had time to convince and thereby safe Harry. Harry would have gone back to Voldemort. He could be with him before the full moon rose and...  
  
He looked around wildly, catching Bryan’s surprised gaze and harshly motioning him and the rest of the pack closer. He’d be damned if he didn’t do everything in his power to save Harry. And his pack would just have to help, whether they liked Harry or not.  
  
He waited impatiently until they had all gathered around him, glancing at all of them in turn before once more focusing on Bryan. “Did something happen, Fenrir?” The old werewolf asked in a soft grumble, the foregoing of the title showing that he had indeed noticed Fenrir’s agitation. “Where is the... Harry?”  
  
“He left. And we need to find him before the full moon.” He shut his eyes against what would happen if they didn’t.  
  
“But that is tomorrow,” Sawyer protested. “We can’t leave the territory. We’ll go on a killing rampage.”  
  
Fenrir growled, and Bryan quickly intervened. “I believe Sawyer wanted to suggest that we wait until after the full moon.”  
  
“Then it will be too late,” Fenrir whispered. “Harry’s pregnant.”  
  
The other werewolves blanched.  
  
“Oh, no, the poor boy,” Maya said softly. “Didn’t you tell him...?”  
  
“I tried to, but he wouldn’t listen.” Fenrir raked a hand through his silver hair. “He might have taken it the wrong way. We have to find him before... I’m going to Voldemort’s headquarters, if I leave immediately I can be there before the moon rises.”  
  
“How is that even possible?” Lin asked. “How can he be pregnant?”  
  
“Who the fuck cares!?” Fenrir snarled, and the she-wolf took a step away from him. “I need to find him!”  
  
“I’ll look for him as well,” Chetan offered. “Where should I go?”  
  
Fenrir shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. He could be anywhere by now...”  
  
“He wouldn’t leave without informing Remus,” Maya said soothingly, grasping Fenrir’s forearm in support. “And Remus will tell him in how much danger he is. Everything will be alright, Alpha.”  
  
“I have to go.” Fenrir stepped away from her touch. “When Remus comes home for the full moon, tell him what happened and...”  
  
“We will, Alpha. We’ll keep watch for either of them to return,” Bryan told him, and Fenrir gave a sharp nod before turning on his heel.  
  
“Thank you.”


	16. Plan B, Option C

Fenrir’s breath was laboured, and his sides hurt, but he didn’t dare stop. Already the sun was setting, and he was only just crossing the anti-Apparation Wards. What if Harry wasn’t here? His next step was slightly shorter, uneven, but he caught himself immediately. He didn’t have time for doubts.  
  
ö_ö_ö  
  
Harry was lying on his bed and tried to focus on the book on male pregnancy that he had found in Voldemort’s extensive library. It was old and dusty and gross, but very, very real. Not a prank. Wizards could get pregnant. Usually with the help of potions as the book had informed him, but wizards from old bloodlines or of strong magic were sometimes fortunate enough to conceive without outside help. It was therefore suggested that also homosexual couples used Contraception Charms as a precaution. Harry felt stupid.  
  
The book was informative, but Harry really didn’t want to know how his insides looked right now, and he could have done without the reports on miscarriages and the moving pictures of crying wizards and their unmoving babies. He had hoped to find photographs of happy families, accounts of joyous celebrations of a new life because he thought that his baby deserved that he looked forward to its coming into this world. A part of him did, but the by far larger part worried about what he should do now and what choices he would have to make to guarantee his child’s safety. Safety before happiness, where had he heard that argument before?  
  
His choices had slowly but surely dwindled down to zero. He couldn’t use his Animagus form anymore because it would be impossible for a human embryo to survive in an animal’s body, the same as changing his appearance or looks would be harmful. Thus, he once again couldn’t help Remus during the full moon, and hiding in disguise was out of the question as well.  
  
He hadn’t really talked to Remus, just told him that he needed some alone time and that he wanted him to return to the pack without him. Remus had been suspicious and worried of course, but had finally given in when Harry had returned his gaze for long enough.   
  
Sirius had been a different matter entirely, and Harry had had to almost bodily throw him out of his rooms to have his privacy, which apparently was a concept Sirius simply couldn’t understand. He knew he was being unfair; Sirius only wanted to help, but his stomach ached, and he felt sick. He wasn’t up that particular conversation.  
  
Harry thought of the little human in his belly, so scarcely protected by a few centimetres of flesh and muscle. His magical strength, something that had almost always decided wizarding altercations in his favour, would no longer be of any use to him. He couldn’t flee. He wouldn’t be able to stand up to Voldemort. He couldn’t go back to Fenrir. What else could he do? Play hide and seek, either with the former Light side or with Voldemort. Grovel. Beg for forgiveness or protection. And between that, shouldn’t he try to be a good father as well? Dammit!  
  
ö_ö_ö  
  
Fenrir didn’t bother knocking. He had no time. He didn’t even check if the door to Harry’s rooms was locked or not. He could smell Harry’s unique scent. He threw his shoulder against it, and it caved, then splintered open under his strength.   
  
Harry was lying on his bed, on his stomach, lazily perusing a book. He turned his head in slow motion, his eyes widened momentarily before a mask slid over his face.  
  
“Leave.”   
  
“Harry - ”  
  
Harry levelled his wand on his chest. “I said leave. I have nothing more to say, and I don’t want to hear what **you** want to say,” Harry interrupted him.  
  
“You don’t fucking understand!” Fenrir barked, taking a step towards Harry despite the threatening wand. “And we don’t have time. You have to get rid of the child, Harry. You have to or you will die.”  
  
“What are you going to kill me?” Harry mocked. “I’d like to see you try.”  
  
“No, dammit, would you just listen to me?” Pain shot through his body, heralding the rise of the moon. “That’s a werewolf’s child you’re carrying and - ”  
  
“So what, just because the child is part-werewolf, I should step aside and let you kill it? Now who’s prejudiced?!” Harry demanded.  
  
“Harry, the child will kill you,” Fenrir whispered, fire shooting through his veins. “You have to get rid of it, please, before it’s too late. Please, Harry, trust me.”  
  
“What the hell are you talking about?” Harry demanded before shaking his head. “You know what, why should I even care? You came here despite the full moon, putting myself, my child and this whole castle in danger and... Remus?”  
  
Harry got up in surprise as a second werewolf stumbled into the room, rivulets of sweat running over his face as he tried to stave off the transformation. His whole body was shaking.  
  
“What are you doing here?” Harry asked, panic entering his voice. “You have to go, both of you.”  
  
“No... time.” Remus was gasping for air and stumbled towards Harry. “Change, cub! You have to change!”  
  
“You don’t understand, Remy.” Harry twisted his hands, drawing back when hair began to sprout from the werewolves’ faces; his stomach was cramping again. “I can’t. You have to go, please.”  
  
“No, Har...” Remus voice ended in a gurgling howl as his fingernails lengthened into claws.  
  
“The child will transform with the full moon and will tear you apart from the inside,” Fenrir barked more than spoke. “Kill it.” He reached into the pocket of his jeans, hissing in pain as his fingers closed around his father’s silver wedding ring. “Swallow, quick, please.”  
  
“No,” Remus howled, tearing at his skin. “Animagus, change, now. Like before.”  
  
Harry looked from Fenrir’s hand that retracted an inch, but still remained extended in his direction, to Remus’ cowering form. Remus had morphed almost completely; Fenrir was still holding on to humanity, looking at Harry in supplication. Suddenly Harry felt a piercing pain in his abdomen and doubled over, sinking to his knees and screaming in agony when the pain multiplied with every breath he took.  
  
“Moonlight.” Strong, hairy arms closed around him and rocked him, which only intensified the pain and a low, gravelly voice spoke in his ear, the words lost between growls and snarls and purrs.  
  
Harry had tears running over his face, his hands were shaking, rays of pain spreading from his stomach and coursing through his whole body, blinding his mind. Fenrir shifted behind him, wrapping himself almost completely around Harry to protect him from Remus, who had succumbed to the call of the full moon. His own body was protesting as he denied it the longed for transformation. He would wait for Harry to decide and if it cost his own life.  
  
“Fen.” Harry sobbed.  
  
Harry didn’t make the conscious decision to trust them, maybe he was only overwhelmed by the pain, but he shifted into his Animagus form, the change painfully slow. He collapsed as soon as the change was complete. A howl erupted from Fenrir’s throat as he also allowed himself to turn into his werewolf form.  
  
The little white wolf was panting heavily, shuddering so hard it looked almost like seizures were wracking the thin form. Soft whimpers reached Fenrir’s sensitive ears, but as much as he wanted to nuzzle and lick his little white one in an attempt to make him feel better, there was a much more urgent problem. Remus, after Harry had transformed thereby eliminating the human closest by, was getting adventuresome, his hunting instincts telling him to look for another prey. And there was certainly enough prey to satisfy even the most blood-thirsty werewolf. A castle full of wizards and a werewolf who had suppressed his wolf side for too long weren’t a good combination.  
  
Remus’ ear were perked, he sniffed and inched closer to the destroyed door. Fenrir growled warningly, for a brief moment attracting the younger werewolf’s attention, but when no actions followed as Fenrir was still reluctant to leave Harry’s side, Remus approached the door again, yowling in joy. With a clean leap, he was out of the room.   
  
Fenrir hesitated briefly, but even though he wanted to stay with Harry, he knew that it was his responsibility to follow Remus to prevent a massacre. He touched his nose to Harry’s, painfilled green eyes blinking up at him, before he sped after his wayward cub, trying to ignore his own urges to follow one of the enticing scents that were bombarding him.  
  
He caught up with Remus, snapping at the brown wolf’s nuzzle to stop him and tugged him by the scruff of his neck back into the direction of his Harry. He had almost herded the reluctant cub to his little white one when another scent assaulted his nose. A human scent, one he faintly recognised from Azkaban. Travers. Close to his Harry, a threat. He bared his teeth and snarled viciously, Remus following suit, their hackles raised.  
  
Fenrir heard Harry whimper and it only enraged him more. Travers was a menace; he would have to take care of him before he could hurt Harry. With a growl he leapt forward. Travers seemed to have frozen in place though he pointed a shaking wand at the two werewolves, even sending two potent Dark curses at them that left them wholly unimpressed.  
  
Harry whimpered again, and his black nose peaked out of the room, between the broken door and the door frame. Fenrir yipped softly, soothingly, telling Harry that he would be with him in a few seconds. Harry yowled.  
  
With renewed vigour and rage the silver werewolf charged at the Death Eater, but instead collided with another canine form. He fell back on all fours, more out of surprise than because of the momentum of the impact. The other canine, black-furred and stormy-eyed wasn’t a werewolf, nor even a wolf, but instead a huge dog that seemed to have a few bears in its ancestry. He almost matched Fenrir in size. Almost.   
  
The dog was panting, standing between Fenrir and his prey, growling not quite belligerently but still with warning confidence. But though it gave Fenrir pause, it couldn’t deter him so easily from eliminating the threat to his suffering little one. He took the low grumbling as a challenge. Remus was pacing behind him, seemingly undecided. The dog retreated a step, bumping into David and waking him from his stupor. David took flight, though he still had the presence of mind to erect several barriers on his way, infused with as much silver as he could muster.  
  
Fenrir, deprived of the immediate stimulation of prey in his vicinity, regained at least partial control of his human mind, and the dog didn’t seem important in comparison to Harry’s pained whimpers. He needed to get them out of the castle so that he could focus on comforting Harry and helping him as much as he could.   
  
Harry’s eyes looked duly up at him as if the pain was too great for him to bear in full consciousness, but at least he was still alive. Fenrir tenderly nuzzled Harry’s flews, cheeks and throat before he closed his yaws around Harry’s neck to carry him since Harry clearly was in no state to walk on his own. Harry curled up reflexively, but despite this, Fenrir had to hold his head unusually high so that Harry’s hind legs wouldn’t drag over the floor.   
  
He brushed past the black dog, bumped into Remus to make him walk. Remus followed him with a small desolate yip, from time to time sneaking past him to gently nudge the Animagus in Fenrir’s grip. Fenrir grudgingly allowed the black canine to follow them, although he made sure to never let him out of his sight, sometimes walking sideways so as not to lose him. But the dog had no intention to leave their side anyway, sometimes running ahead or stopping Remus from escaping down one of the corridors but always falling into step again; Fenrir’s hunting instinct had died completely, but his pack instinct was in full force and he took offence that this measly dog dared to take over his task to keep Remus in check. He would deal with this later.  
  
With the help of the dog, and Fenrir would never admit this, they managed to leave the castle without further incidents. The doors banged shut behind them, warding themselves. Travers had informed Voldemort of the two werewolves in his castle. At least something.   
  
He carried Harry to a small hollow that would protect them from the strong wind and gently put him down. Harry whimpered, moving his legs restlessly and nudging his side, before curling up once more. Fenrir swiped his broad tongue over Harry’s nose and forehead and then quickly scouted out the surrounding terrain to make sure they would be relatively safe.   
  
Fenrir growled at the black dog that was standing uncomfortably close to Remus, knowing that he would have to fight this out now before Harry and Remus would truly be safe. He was surprised when the dog immediately ducked in submission, rolling to his back and baring his vulnerable throat to the Alpha. Fenrir grumbled, closed his teeth lightly over the dog’s throat, and drew back. The dog stayed put until Fenrir had pushed Remus over to Harry so that the small white wolf was framed by the two werewolves. Then, he slowly rolled to his feet and padded over to them, settling behind them and bedding his head on Remus’ back.  
  
Fenrir observed all this suspiciously, but curled up around Harry’s shivering body so that he at least wouldn’t be cold, grumbling soothingly in Harry’s ear and from time to time licking and nipping the soft white fur of his little companion. Wincing every time Harry winced. His eyes snapping open at the softest noise. Not daring to fall asleep, but instead watching over this fragment of his pack and praying to the Mother Moon to save his Harry, to not demand Harry’s life in payment for his own sins.  
  
ö_ö_ö  
  
Fenrir groaned and stretched his gloriously nude body when the spell of the moon released him, watching as Remus also rippled back into his human form much less smoothly, whimpering and writhing. Fenrir pulled the younger werewolf into a loose embrace, crooning into his ear until Remus relaxed.  
  
“Alright, cub?” Fenrir asked, still supporting most of the other werewolf’s weight. “Just breathe, you’ll be fine.”  
  
“Harry, Alpha, what is with Harry?” Remus croaked, looking at the small white wolf. “Why hasn’t he transformed yet? I thought he would be fine if he changed...”  
  
“Hush, cub, I think he’s just exhausted,” Fenrir murmured, dropping to his knees next to Harry, running his hands through the soft fur until Harry blinked his eyes open with a small whimper. “Little one, don’t you want to change back?”  
  
Harry robbed forward, pressing his nose against Fenrir’s neck, burrowing closer to the werewolf’s warmth.  
  
Fenrir was distracted when the black dog moved, and in one swift move, he dragged Remus down behind him and shielded both him and Harry with his body. The dog turned into a thin black-haired man, his shoulders hunched, his head bowed, his eyes averted. At least one Animagus who knew how to act around an Alpha werewolf, not that Fenrir had any mind to appreciate the offered submission.  
  
“Who the hell are you?” Fenrir demanded, bunching his muscles.  
  
“Sirius Black, Harry’s godfather,” Sirius said respectfully.  
  
“Godfather?” Fenrir asked. “I thought you were Harry’s godfather, Remus.”  
  
“Sirius and I were both friends with Harry’s parents. Sirius was named his godfather, but it was more a formality,” Remus murmured. “Alpha, something’s wrong with Harry. We have to get him to a healer, please.”  
  
“Hush, cub, I’ll handle this,” Fenrir muttered, turning back to Harry. “Sweet one, look at me.” Harry whimpered, but his eyes fluttered open. “Are you in pain?”  
  
Harry whimpered again, nodding his head.  
  
Fenrir’s hand drew soothing circles on Harry’s side and belly. “Can you change back, my little hurt wolf?”  
  
Harry shook his head this time, and Fenrir furrowed his brow. “Why not? Don’t you have the strength?”   
  
Another shake of the head, and Harry tried to touch his nose to his belly, but yowled as pain shot through his body.  
  
“What does he mean?” Sirius asked, inching a little closer to the group of werewolves. “Why were you at the castle, anyway? I thought you were the responsible one, Moony?”  
  
“He means his child,” Remus answered. “He’s pregnant, and we came to warn him.”  
  
“But why... Wait, wait, Fenrir? As in Greyback? You utter bastard!” Sirius lunged at the Alpha werewolf, his hands poised to claw the other man’s eyes out.  
  
With an almost careless swipe, Fenrir sent the slender man to the ground, pressing his knee down on the small of his back to keep him down. “What is your problem, foolish wizard?”  
  
“Let me go, you beast, I’ll fucking kill you, I’ll kill you for what you did to Harry! You monster!” Sirius half sobbed, half screamed, struggling in vain. “I’ll kill you!”  
  
Fenrir laughed darkly, pushing Sirius’ face in the snow to shut him up before turning to Remus. “Mind telling me what has got into him?”  
  
“I... I don’t know,” Remus whispered, his eyes rather wide as he looked from Fenrir to the back of Sirius’ head. “He isn’t normally... I mean, he’s a good person.”  
  
Fenrir snorted. “I can see that.”  
  
“Maybe we should let him explain?” Remus offered cautiously, and Fenrir grunted, but let up a little so that Sirius could turn his head to the side, gasp for breath.  
  
“So what do you have to say, human?” Fenrir demanded.  
  
“You raped him. You raped Harry!” Sirius accused. “I’ll never let you touch him again! I’ll kill you!”  
  
“Paddy, you got this wrong - ” Remus tried to intervene, but Sirius interrupted him with shouting another death threat at Fenrir, who reacted by pushing Sirius’ face back into the snow.  
  
“Let me explain it to him, Alpha,” Remus said pleadingly, cowering under Fenrir’s furious glare.  
  
“I did not rape Harry,” Fenrir growled dangerously.  
  
“I know, Alpha,” Remus appeased him. “Sirius is just a bit sensitive and he got the facts wrong.”  
  
“And who gave him those facts?” Fenrir asked furiously. “You? Or was it Harry? Who of you sees me as a rapist?” Sirius mumbled something, and Fenrir jerked him up by the hair. “Who?”  
  
“Travers, he told me that you took Harry as your... your plaything,” Sirius spat, but he seemed a bit less convinced.  
  
“Oh, but of course. Because he’s the expert!” Fenrir said derisively. “I guess, he was with us all the while I raped Harry over and over again and most likely I’m still forcing myself onto him, and Harry and Remus just bear with it!”  
  
“I... But...” Sirius sputtered at a loss for words.  
  
Harry howled and then whimpered, painfully getting to his feet, and swayed over to Fenrir. He had intended to nip Fenrir’s bare arm, but lost his strength and instead collapsed at his feet with a painfilled yowl.  
  
Fenrir immediately turned his attention back to him, gathering him gently in his arms and rubbing behind his ears. “Shh, stupid, little thing, you shouldn’t have moved. I’d have been with you in a second.”  
  
Harry grumbled but relaxed minutely under Fenrir’s sure strokes, though he still shivered and shuddered. The werewolf looked up at the other two men, who were talking in hushed but urgent voices. He could easily understand them, but he didn’t bother to listen in. It was clear what they were talking about, and Remus had his arms wrapped around the black-haired wizard so he didn’t need to fear any surprise attacks.  
  
“Little one?” He leaned close to Harry’s ear. “Aren’t you turning back because the baby is still a werewolf?”  
  
Harry gave him a tiny nod and a scared look as if asking what he should do and if something was wrong.  
  
“Don’t you worry, sweet little wolf,” Fenrir calmed him. “When Chetan was young he would stay in wolf form for several hours after the full moon had set because his small body didn’t have enough energy to change back. I’m sure it’s the same with our child. It’s alright.”  
  
Harry gave him a tired glare and sank his teeth into Fenrir’s arm, telling him exactly how alright it was for Harry to be stuck in his Animagus form for an uncertain amount of time.  
  
Fenrir withdrew his arm, gently extracting Harry’s teeth from his flesh and took up his petting once more. “That might have been the wrong word,” he amended. “But right now, I’m just relieved you’re still alive, my silly little human. Why do you always have to run away instead of talking to me? That or you distract me with sex.”  
  
Harry rolled his eyes, butting his nose against Fenrir’s cheek, though the movement made pain flare through his whole body. He whimpered and sank back down at Fenrir’s feet.  
  
“Remus,” Fenrir called sharply. “Stop your squabbling. We have more important things to do. Harry’s in pain, and he has to see a healer.”  
  
“Yes, of course,” Remus agreed readily, coming over and grasping Harry’s paw reassuringly. “Do you want to go to Madam Pomfrey, cub?”  
  
Harry nodded, whining lowly when Fenrir picked him up and squeezed his tender stomach. Fenrir shifted his hold carefully to take the pressure off of Harry’s belly and strode back to the castle. Remus caught up to him, and Sirius attempted to do the same, but Fenrir sent him a furious glare.  
  
“Stay away, human,” he snapped.   
  
“I was just worried about Harry,” Sirius protested meekly. “I still am.”  
  
“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have killed his relatives then, huh?” Fenrir mocked. “That was you, wasn’t it?”  
  
Harry yipped and licked Fenrir’s hand, gnawing on his fingers to garner his attention.  
  
“I feel guilty enough about that without you rubbing salt in the wounds,” Sirius said curtly.  
  
Fenrir looked down at Harry. “I’ll give it a rest, my little sweet one, but only because I don’t want to upset you.”  
  
The white wolf purred in thanks, nuzzling closer to Fenrir and closing his eyes. He was so tired. His eyes dropped closed, but he was too afraid to miss the retransformation of his child to drift completely off to sleep and get some much needed rest. His stomach was cramping, fire and needles shooting through it in turns and simultaneously. But the worst was really the fear. He didn’t understand what was wrong, if Fenrir had been lying to him to make him feel better, if his child was even alive.  
  
“Don’t worry, sweet thing,” a gruff voice whispered in his ear. “I know our child is still alive. Just keep holding on and I’ll bring you to a healer.”  
  
Harry whimpered softly, pushing his nose between Fenrir’s arm and his body.  
  
Fenrir walked quickly, wading through the snow and hunching over Harry’s small body, his nose almost touching the tip of Harry’s ear. The castle was still closed off to them, but before Fenrir could lose his temper and curse the stupid wizards for keeping Harry from seeing a healer they swung open.   
  
“Potter, can’t you stay out of trouble for at least one week?” Voldemort said, completely ignoring everyone but the white wolf. “What is wrong with you now?”  
  
“What is it to you?” Fenrir growled, turning half around to shield Harry with his body. “We need a healer.”  
  
“Pomfrey is waiting for him,” another voice offered, and Fenrir snarled viciously, baring all his teeth at the man who had accused him of raping his little white one.  
  
David almost jumped back, but wasn’t fast enough to avoid the heavy fist that flew into his stomach, sending him crashing to the floor. He curled up, his whole body cramping.  
  
“How dare you tell lies about me?!” Fenrir said, kicking David in the side. “I’m not like those vile humans; I wouldn’t ever do that, let alone to Harry.”  
  
David just whimpered, folding his arms protectively over his head.  
  
“Stay away from him, wizard,” Fenrir said derisively, intending to turn away, but Harry’s struggling made it difficult. “Shh now, little sweet one, you’ll hurt yourself if you continue with this.”  
  
Harry didn’t stop, though, and instead sank his teeth into the arm holding him, twisting and turning. Fenrir cursed, trying to keep a hold of him, but was at the same time afraid to hold him too tightly. Finally, he dropped to his knees with a general insult to the intelligence of humans and gently set Harry down.   
  
The white wolf scrabbled to get his feet under him, growling when Fenrir tried to help him, and stumbled over to the cowering Death Eater, squeezing himself between his stiff arms. He started to lick what little of David’s face that was visible, yipping soothingly.  
  
“For Salazar’s Sake.” Voldemort sighed in exasperation, shooting a Sleeping Charm at David. “Potter, you’re in pain; you need a healer and my mood won’t improve if we waste anymore time.”  
  
“How would you know that Harry is in pain, Voldemort?” Fenrir demanded angrily. “This is not your business.”  
  
“It is as it’s giving me a headache,” the Dark Lord returned, making to levitate David’s prone body away from Harry, but Harry’s furious howl stopped him. “This is ridiculous, Potter. I have no intention of letting you die in the middle of my hallway.”  
  
He raised his wand again and levitated David’s body despite Harry’s vocal protests. “We’re going to that nurse. One of you take that hero-playing fool.”  
  
Fenrir crouched down to lift Harry, but the white wolf snapped for his hand, growling in warning, which caused Fenrir to draw back with a sigh. Harry’s growl changed to a pitiful whimper as he robbed towards Remus, pawing at his shoes. The werewolf immediately scooped down and pulled Harry into his arms, holding him close to his body to cushion him from the movement of his quick steps.   
  
“What is the meaning of this?” Madam Pomfrey bustled towards them, stopped and put her hands on her wide hips. “This is no place for animals. Professor Lupin, I’m quite certain I have told you this before.”  
  
“Potter needs medical attention,” Voldemort stated imperiously.  
  
“With all due respect, my Lord, but that is nothing new,” the nurse said primly. “Where is he then? And this is still no reason to bring animals into a sterilised room. Hygiene is of the utmost importance in a room where one treats open wounds.”  
  
“It seems Harry Potter has once more demonstrated that he has many more facets than he was credited for,” Voldemort said sardonically, motioning to the shivering Animagus. “And he’s in pain, not surprisingly. I expect a report by this evening.”  
  
With that he turned on his heel and left Madam Pomfrey’s clean, neat, orderly chambers.  
  
“Well, then Mr. Potter, change back so that I can examine you,” Madam Pomfrey ordered, bustling over to her potion’s cabinet and gathering several healing potions. “And what is wrong with Mr. Travers?”  
  
“He needed a time-out,” Fenrir answered, giving Remus a sign to put Harry down on the single white-sheeted bed. “And Harry can’t change back.”  
  
“And why is that so, Mr...?” she asked sternly, pausing expectantly for him to supply a gruff “Greyback”; she barely batted an eyelash. “Mr. Greyback. I remember quite clearly telling him that changing his physic could be more than potentially harmful to the - in his current condition.”  
  
“We know about the pregnancy,” Remus said. “But Harry might have omitted to tell you that the child is Fenrir’s.”  
  
The nurse took a sharp breath. “I see. That’s unfortunate.”  
  
Fenrir growled dangerously and Madam Pomfrey took an involuntary step back. “Help him and don’t talk, woman!”  
  
The witch scowled, but turned to Harry and then hesitated. “I’m not a vet, Mr. Potter.”  
  
“And Harry is not an animal,” Fenrir growled. “He’s an Animagus with a little werewolf in his belly, and he’s in pain, so do something about it.”  
  
“As long as Mr. Potter won’t change back, there’s nothing I can do,” the nurse retorted. “If my service doesn’t suit you, you can find a more qualified healer who has no problem stepping out of their area of expertise and risking their patient’s health.”  
  
“Maybe you could just do an ultrasound scan?” Remus offered cautiously, rubbing Harry’s ears. “So that we can see when the baby changes back to human and Harry can change back as well.”  
  
The nurse was still scowling, but tapped her wand gently against Harry’s stomach. A wide screen appeared above it and after a few seconds of pure black, lines and spots of white appeared on it, showing Harry’s inner organs and an about walnut-sized little spot that twisted and turned restlessly. Even though it was still so small it already looked like a perfect little wolf in miniature. With a swish of Madam Pomfrey’s wand, the image zeroed in on the embryo and showed it in an enlarged form.   
  
They could now see little claws scratching against the walls surrounding them, a thankfully toothless snout nudging Harry’s intestines.  
  
“Why is it attacking him?” Sirius demanded. “We have to do something or Harry’ll die of internal bleeding.”  
  
“It isn’t attacking him,” Fenrir stated, carefully putting his large hand over Harry’s paw. “It’s just moving around. It doesn’t mean to hurt you, Harry. It just doesn’t know any better.”  
  
“How about some Sleeping Potion? The baby won’t be able to hurt Harry if it’s sleeping,” Sirius offered, but Remus shook his head.  
  
“If we do that, the child won’t be able to change back. But maybe a Healing or Pepper-Up Potion would help?”  
  
“Hmpf.” Madam Pomfrey checked the vials in front of her carefully. “I asked Severus to make some special potions that can be used even during male pregnancy. I suppose administering one now couldn’t hurt too much, though of course there’s no way for me to say how an animal’s body will react to them.”  
  
“Animagus,” Fenrir snapped. “He’s an Animagus. He’s not an animal!”  
  
The nurse settled on ignoring the irritate werewolf and just uncorked a Healing Potion, tipping it down Harry’s throat before he could protest. “It should take effect immediately.”  
  
On the screen, swirls of magic could be seen as if fireworks were going off in Harry’s stomach. The potion settled over Harry’s abused insides like a protective membrane and Harry breathed a sigh of relief, the tension leaving his frame for a moment before another vicious nudge made him wince again. It looked almost like the embryo also wanted a bit of the potion. Harry curled up again, burying his nose under his paws.  
  
“Is there nothing more we can do?” Sirius demanded. “The baby is only going to hurt him again and in an hour’s time, Harry’ll be right back to the state he was just in.”  
  
“It will be better to perform the abortion when Mr. Potter is back in his human body,” Madam Pomfrey stated, squeaking when Fenrir let loose an eardrum-shattering roar.   
  
“Shut up, woman! Shut up! No one is having an abortion. Harry’s still alive, the child’s still alive. We’ll figure something out for the next full moon. You won’t kill our child!”  
  
“Mr. Greyback, I’m sure you know better than I do how risky and downright dangerous this pregnancy is for Mr. Potter,” Madam Pomfrey said, one of her hands pressed to her ample bosom. “He won’t survive if he attempts to carry this child to term, that I can guarantee.”  
  
“Get out, witch,” Fenrir snarled. “Get away from him before I rip you to shreds. **Get out!** ”  
  
“Alpha...” Remus tried to intervene, but Fenrir turned his stare on the younger werewolf, and Remus ducked his head in submission.  
  
Muttering under her breath, Madam Pomfrey hastened from the room, firmly closing the doors behind them.  
  
“She won’t kill my cub!” Fenrir growled. “Harry wouldn’t want that. You didn’t see how he reacted when I told him... But he’s alive. He’s alive. Harry wouldn’t want an abortion, right, small one? Right?”  
  
Harry whimpered tiredly, but didn’t move.  
  
“Alpha,” Remus made another attempt, “Harry is in a lot of pain, and he’s only in his second month. What will happen when the child continues growing and starts to seriously hurt Harry? And even if Harry manages to hold onto life, there’s no way to tell if the baby will be healthy if it’s born. The strain of all those transformations might be too much.”  
  
“Werewolves are strong,” Fenrir insisted stubbornly. “And so is Harry.”  
  
“I know that, but wolf pregnancies last barely two months, and human pregnancies nine,” Remus pleaded. “The difference is just too big. What if the wolf baby keeps growing inside of Harry like it would do on the outside? What if the baby gets teeth? Please, Alpha, don’t kill my cub just because you want to keep yours.”  
  
Fenrir growled. “He’s my cub as well. He doesn’t want me to call him that, but he’s mine! Mine!”  
  
“And you’re going to kill him!” Remus exclaimed desperately. “Because you’re too stubborn to see lycanthropy as the curse it is!”  
  
Fenrir had Remus around the throat, squeezing in warning, within the blink of an eye, his teeth gleaming in the harsh light of the hospital-like chambers.   
  
“It’s no curse, it’s a blessing, but some are just too weak to appreciate it,” Fenrir snarled cruelly.   
  
“Both of you, shut up!” Sirius shouted. “This is not your decision, it’s Harry’s, and he’s in pain while you two have nothing better to do than to argue. Stop being egoistic and focus on the matter at hand, on helping Harry!”  
  
“He’s right,” Remus croaked. “But, please, Alpha...”  
  
“I know he’s your cub.” The silver-haired werewolf withdrew his hand, leaning close to Remus’ ear. “But I care just as much, if differently, about him.”  
  
“Yes, Alpha,” Remus said softly, butting his nose against Fenrir’s chin. “I’m sure he appreciates it.”  
  
“I doubt that,” Fenrir murmured bitterly before turning back to Harry with an apologetic smile on his face. “I’m sorry for arguing, little thing. How are you feeling?”  
  
Harry flicked his tongue over Fenrir’s large hand and closed his eyes again, breathing shallowly. Fenrir cupped Harry’s face in his hand, brushing his thumb over the soft fur, not stopping when Remus took a seat on the bed behind Harry or when Sirius spread a blanket over Harry’s shivering body. They remained in this position for well after noon, but suddenly Harry arched off the bed, his whole body convulsing as a tormented howl erupted from his throat.  
  
Fenrir gathered Harry to his chest as he had done with Remus earlier in the morning. “It’s happening, Harry, the baby is changing back. Breathe, my little strong one, concentrate on my voice, breathe. Don’t resist, give the child your strength. You’ll be fine, brave little wolf.”  
  
Harry growled testily, but it quickly turned into a whimper and then a yowl of pain. Harry’s uncertain green eyes flickered over them, locking onto Remus’.  
  
“I think you should wait to transform back until the baby is fully human again, cub. Changing back now will only provoke the baby,” Remus answered the unasked question. “You have to be strong for a bit longer.”  
  
“It’ll be okay, small one,” Fenrir murmured, stroking Harry’s cheek, and then pressed a kiss to Harry’s cold nose.   
  
Harry arched off the bed, fell back on it, shuddering in pain as his stomach twisted into knots, needles piercing him from the inside, fists hitting him from the outside. He could taste blood on his tongue, could feel it pounding behind his temples, clouding his vision in black and red. It felt like eternity before the pain subsided to a bearable level. He morphed into his human form, a small cry escaping his chapped lips.  
  
“You did well, my sweet little wizard, very well,” Fenrir said, kissing Harry’s sweaty forehead.   
  
“You realise that you’re not my favourite person right now,” Harry croaked, batting Fenrir’s hands away and tried to stand up, swaying precariously.  
  
“Now wait a minute. It’s not as if this is my fault!” Fenrir protested. “You didn’t tell me that wizards could get pregnant.”  
  
“Not because of that,” Harry argued. “David, how could you fucking do that to him? And then just ignore him. He might have internal bleeding! And I didn’t know wizards could get pregnant. Why didn’t you tell me that the baby would transform?”  
  
“I didn’t think it was an issue,” Fenrir protested sharply. “And that wizard called me a rapist.”  
  
“So what? He misinterpreted the facts, he’s confused and sensitive. We know what happened and what didn’t, that should be enough. You overreacted, like always,” Harry retorted, stumbling over to where Voldemort had put Travers, his knees like jelly; he collapsed, hitting the floor in frustration. “Dammit, would someone feel like helping me?”  
  
Fenrir was at his side with one step, reaching down to help Harry up.  
  
“Not you,” Harry hissed. “You have a lot of explaining to do before you get to touch me again, Mister.”  
  
“Fine, so I overreacted. Maybe I shouldn’t have hit him, but that’ll teach him not to tell lies about me or you or us,” Fenrir grumbled.  
  
“Not that. The pregnancy,” Harry argued, grasping Remus’ hand to pull himself up. “You should’ve told me and I might’ve reconsidered letting you bite me.”  
  
“No, Harry, you don’t understand. You would have died if it weren’t for your Animagus form,” Fenrir replied urgently, pulling Harry away from Remus and into his own arms. “Werewolf pregnancies... they end ugly. There was never a werewolf born, moonlight, and - ”  
  
“I thought werewolves were infertile,” Sirius interrupted and Fenrir snarled at him. “Remus? You didn’t tell me...”   
  
“I used contraception, Sirius,” the brown-haired werewolf answered.  
  
“What?” Harry exclaimed. “Why didn’t you warn me? You knew wizards could get pregnant and you knew that werewolf pregnancies are dangerous, you knew and you didn’t tell me.”  
  
“Of course I did,” Remus replied. “I told you to use contraception - ”  
  
“What? No, you didn’t!”  
  
“I asked you to be safe, you said you were,” Remus said with a small growl. “Cub, you better not have lied to me.”  
  
“How else would I have got pregnant?” Harry snapped testily.   
  
“In Azkaban, when you had no means to use protection,” Remus answered, unamused. “Why, for Merlin’s sake, didn’t you use contraception and why did you lie to me?” Hurt entered his voice in the last sentence.  
  
“Because I thought you meant that in a general I-worry-about-you-way!” Harry exclaimed. “How was I to know that you meant using contraception? You weren’t very specific!”  
  
“I believed you wouldn’t thank me for that kind of conversation. The one we had in your Sixth Year was rather... We talked about this, about how you should be responsible and use Contraception Charms to avoid pregnancy and sexually transmitted diseases!” Remus narrowed his eyes.  
  
“Werewolves are immune to diseases!” Harry defended himself. “And you never told me that wizards could get pregnant!”  
  
“I thought you knew.” Remus sighed. “So I tried to keep the reminder short and unembarrassing. That has evidently been a mistake. I’m sorry, cub.”  
  
Harry frowned. “It wasn’t your fault, Remus. It was just a misunderstanding.”  
  
He disentangled himself from Fenrir’s embrace, pecked Remus’ cheek and then stumbled over to David, grasping his cold hands. “Could you wake him, Remus?”  
  
“Here, let me,” Sirius offered, stepping close to Harry with his wand raised. “I can show you a spell to fix your wand on your arm so that you’ll have it with you even after a transformation. _Ennervate_.”  
  
“I’d appreciate that,” Harry said and put his hands, still intertwined with David’s, over the Death Eater’s chest to keep him down. “Shh, David, it’s only me. You’re safe, I promise.”  
  
David whimpered, a litany of pleas and no’s falling from his lips as his eyes jumped around the room.  
  
“Hey now, focus on me,” Harry murmured soothingly, rubbing small circles on David’s chest. “No one will hurt you.”  
  
David’s hands almost crushed Harry’s as he drew the younger man into a desperate embrace, but Harry only relaxed even though his body protested and whispered soothing nothings into his ear like he had learned to do.   
  
The grey-haired man took a deep breath. “Are you okay, Patronus? I was worried about you yesterday.”  
  
“‘ _Okay_ ’ might stretch it a bit too far,” Harry replied wryly. “I’m kind of pregnant, and as it turned out, carrying a werewolf baby isn’t exactly healthy. It’s not the word I’d use.”  
  
“Pregnant?” David demanded in a whisper. “I’m so sorry, Harry. You don’t deserve this... this reminder.”  
  
Harry drew back a little. “David, you got that wrong, you know? Fenrir never raped me.” The Death Eater still looked sceptical, and Harry sighed. “Really, I’m... fine, I might not be exactly thrilled because this isn’t how I planned it, but it was all consensual. Fenrir didn’t rape me.”  
  
“Damn right I didn’t,” Fenrir growled, causing David to wince. “Silly little thing, you should be resting and not play the shoulder to cry on for some insignificant wimp.”  
  
“Shut up.” Harry glared at him. “I’m still angry with you.”  
  
“Why now? Pregnancy or your little pet there?” Fenrir asked in exasperation.  
  
“I’m not in the mood to appreciate your sarcasm,” Harry retorted. “You scared away the only healer I remotely trust, and now I have to find someone else because if you think I’m going to decide what to do without a **professional** second opinion, you have another thing coming to you.”  
  
“Don’t tell me you’re already having mood swings,” Fenrir groaned.  
  
“No, actually, because I’m not wavering between positive and negative feelings. I’m pissed at you all the time.” Harry smiled sweetly at the werewolf. “But I can’t wait for that part of pregnancy because I’ll so enjoy making your life hell. Isn’t that something to look forward to, wolfie?”  
  
Fenrir growled, grabbing Harry around the slender waist and hefting him up into his arms. “You know what I look forward to, cheeky one? When you get all horny and just can’t keep your hands off of me anymore and then I’ll be inside of you **all** day, **all** night, tasting you, claiming you, **satisfying** you.” He gently nipped the whiteness of Harry’s neck. “We’ll find you a new healer.”  
  
“’kay,” Harry mumbled. “But I’m still angry.”  
  
“Of course you are,” Fenrir grumbled, carrying Harry back to the bed.   
  
“Hey, I can walk!” Harry protested, aiming a fist at Fenrir’s chin, who turned his head to the side and captured Harry’s hand with one of his own.  
  
“Of course you can,” Fenrir returned evenly.  
  
“Don’t you use that patronising tone with me,” Harry snapped.  
  
“Of course not.” The werewolf grinned, pecking Harry’s lips, and lazily defended himself against Harry’s other hand.  
  
“I think there once was a time when I liked you at least a little bit.” Harry narrowed his eyes. “But for the hell of me, I can’t remember.”  
  
“I’ll be sure to remind you later on.” Fenrir smirked.  
  
“You wish.”  
  
Remus cleared his throat. “Shouldn’t we go find a healer, Alpha, cub?”  
  
“Fine,” Harry muttered. “Fen, set me down, now. David, would you hand me your arm for a moment?”  
  
Fenrir grumbled, but carefully put Harry down on the bed and watched suspiciously as David approached them. “Why do you need my arm?”  
  
“The one with the Dark Mark,” Harry answered, pushing back the sleeve of David’s robes to reveal the black skull with the snake spilling from its mouth. “I don’t see why this should work only one way. And Voldemort can for once move his bony butt to me and not the other way round. Tell me if it hurts.”  
  
He carefully traced the black lines, closely observing David’s face for any change of expression and then hissed a short command in Parseltongue. He wasn’t going to ask Voldemort nicely to come; it wasn’t as if he was ever asked. No, he always got his summons from a cowering house-elf. He almost hit his forehead in frustration that he hadn’t thought of this sooner. But then he didn’t because he was already in enough pain and considered himself lucky that he still knew his full name. His vision went black for a moment, and he instinctively tightened his hold on David’s arm. The Death Eater snaked his free arm around Harry’s waist to stabilise him.  
  
“We could call a house-elf,” David suggested. “Might be more reliable.”  
  
“I just realised that,” Harry mumbled in displeasure, resting a bit more of his weight on David. “Sleazy?”  
  
“Master Potter has called?” The little creature plopped into view. “What can Sleazy be doing for Master Potter.”  
  
“Tell Voldemort that I want to see him,” Harry answered curtly.  
  
“Sleazy can bring Master Potter to Master Lord Voldemort right away.” The house-elf bowed deeply, but Harry shook his head.  
  
“I want him to come to me, tell him so,” Harry said dismissively.  
  
“Yes, Master Potter,” Sleazy squeaked and plopped away, leaving Harry to feel slightly guilty for letting a poor house-elf take the brunt of Voldemort’s indubitable anger.  
  
“You’re in no state to go anywhere,” David said soothingly. “Nor to worry. Lay down.”  
  
Harry gratefully sank into the soft pillows behind him, drawing his knees up to his chest. “Dobby?” A second house-elf popped into view. “Could you bring me some clothes and my wand from my rooms, please?”  
  
“Dobby will be glad to, Master Harry Potter, sir.” Dobby’s head was still bobbing up and down as he disappeared and reappeared moments later with Harry’s things levitating around him. “Can Dobby do something more for Master Harry Potter, sir?”  
  
“No, Dobby, thank you. That will be all.” Harry smiled at the excitable house-elf and pulled on the sweater and the pair of jeans Dobby had brought for him, slipping his wand into his pocket.


	17. Sanity

When Voldemort apparated directly in front of Harry, the young man almost toppled from the edge of the bed, only stopped by Fenrir’s steadying hand.  
  
“Fuck, can’t you use the door like any normal person?” Harry groused. “And you didn’t tell me I could apparate in here.”  
  
Voldemort merely arched an eyebrow. “Did you think I had the patience to wait for my Death Eaters to leisurely stroll down the corridors when I’m expecting their presence?”  
  
“No, I thought you were paranoid,” Harry replied dryly.  
  
“The movement in and out of the castle is of course restricted,” the Dark Lord stated superiorly, and Harry rolled his eyes.   
  
“I’m pregnant,” Harry blurted out, crossing his arms over his chest. “And I need a healer. A damn good one.”  
  
Voldemort was twirling his wand between his long spidery fingers, but his gaze was fixed firmly on Harry. “Am I right in assuming that Greyback caused this inconvenience?” Fenrir growled. “I see. So the accounts of werewolf babies killing their mothers, and mothers killing their babies are correct, I take?”  
  
“Two transformations are too much for even a werewolf to handle,” Fenrir said defensively. “It’s just instinct.”  
  
“Not survival instinct, though,” Voldemort said mockingly.  
  
“What are you even talking about?” Harry demanded. “Fen, what did you mean when you said that werewolf pregnancies end ugly? I thought you were talking about miscarriages.”  
  
“Oh, didn’t he tell you, Potter?” Voldemort smirked unpleasantly. “Didn’t he tell you how werewolf mothers attacked their own bellies because they sensed that there was something human in there, how they devoured their unborn children? Didn’t he tell you, and this might be more interesting to you, how the babies lacerated their mothers from the inside in their inherited hatred for everything that is human? How... unkind of him as you so hate when information is kept from you.”  
  
“Fen?”  
  
“I would have told you, Harry,” Fenrir pleaded, sitting down on the bed and pulling Harry into his side. “I just didn’t know how to without making you hate the baby.”  
  
“I’m time and time surprised how lowly you think of me, wolfie,” Harry muttered, pulling his legs up into Fenrir’ lap. “So that’s why you didn’t just bite me when you found out.”  
  
“When you left I thought I would never see you alive again,” Fenrir admitted. “But I never considered that you were an Animagus. You can transform and still have enough energy for your child to transform.”  
  
“But the baby still hurt Harry,” Sirius intervened, earning himself a glare. “Unintentionally or not. It’s too dangerous.”  
  
“Harry transformed too late, that’s why he was hurt,” Fenrir argued, his voice a deep growl. “The open wounds agitated the baby.”  
  
“Harry is only in his second month, and the damage the baby can do is still minimal,” Remus spoke. “But in a few months even the smallest movement might kill Harry.”  
  
“Potter has other duties,” Voldemort stated. “An at best risky pregnancy is the last we need right now.”  
  
“This is not - ” Fenrir started to argue, but Harry interrupted him.  
  
“All of you shut up. I want a healer, right now, and I’d appreciate it if you all kept your opinions to yourself because it’s giving me a headache on top of everything else.”  
  
They lapsed into silence, until Harry spoke up again in exasperation, “For the third time, I need a healer, Voldemort, so get me one, provided you have left some of them alive.”  
  
“St. Mungo’s has been left fully intact, but of course as it was a Ministry-funded institution, most of the healers there have little if any experience with actually **helping** werewolves. My own healers are more versed in those matters,” Voldemort answered, motioning David to his side.  
  
“Send one of the house-elves,” Harry stopped them. “When you summon your Death Eaters like that it gives me the creeps... David, could you pour me a glass of water, please?”  
  
He sipped the water while Voldemort called Sleazy once again, giving him quiet orders. It didn’t take long for a soft pop to herald a new arrival.  
  
“My Lord?”  
  
“Ah, Rudolphus, so glad you could come,” Voldemort greeted the brown-haired man. “Your skills are in demand.”  
  
“My Lord,” the older Lestrange brother repeated, “what can I do for you?”  
  
Harry narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “He’s a healer? I don’t need some quack, Voldemort, I need a fucking genius!”  
  
“Mr. Potter, while I wouldn’t call myself a genius, I can assure you that I’m not a quack. What are your symptoms?” Rudolphus asked.  
  
“Let me think. My stomach is cramping, I’m dizzy, I’m nauseous, I have no strength. Oh, yes, and there’s a werewolf baby in my stomach,” Harry said mockingly before jerking himself out of the healer’s reach. “And don’t you dare touch me.”  
  
“Mr. Potter, I do have to touch you if you want me to help you,” the Death Eater said reasonably though with a touch of exasperation in his voice.  
  
“Maybe I don’t want that,” Harry spat. “You were in Azkaban, weren’t you?”  
  
“For 13 years, yes,” Rudolphus answered neutrally. “However, I have been practising as a healer ever since our Lord freed us three years ago and have kept myself up to date about recent developments and findings in healing.”  
  
Harry didn’t relax, meeting David’s eyes with a question in his own. They communicated silently for almost one minute before David jerked his head in a minute nod and grimaced reassuringly.  
  
“Fine,” Harry muttered. “But tell me, is insanity contagious?”  
  
“If you would pull up your sweater and lay down on the bed,” the Death Eater said, reaching for his wand. “Mr. Greyback, if you would make room so that I can examine Mr. Potter. As for your question, it has been shown that mental illness does put a considerable strain on the people taking care of the ill person, which in turn can cause depression and in the worst cases insanity. Or did your question refer to the heritability of certain mental disorders?”  
  
Harry snorted, a bit disappointed but also grudgingly impressed that the healer hadn’t taken the bait, and spread out on the bed with a small moan, baring his stomach to the older wizard. The healer slowly circled his wand over Harry’s flat stomach, transferring the results of his examination to a long role of parchment. Harry tried to read his expression, but the pensive frown seemed to be frozen in place and didn’t change at all.  
  
“Well?”  
  
“You have some internal bruising and a few small scratches,” Rudolphus informed him. “Your energy levels are depleted, which is the cause for the dizzy spells and the weakness you have been experiencing. Your pulse is rather weak and your heart beat slightly irregular. However, the baby is healthy and your body is producing all the necessary hormones for the baby to develop properly.”  
  
“See.” Fenrir grinned in victory. “I told you everything would be alright.”  
  
“I have no worries about the baby’s health,” Rudolphus stressed. “I am, however, concerned about your health, Mr. Potter. Your current injuries might seem harmless, but they are not to be taken lightly. Drink this, it will mend the scratches.”  
  
He retrieved a small vial from his healer’s bag and handed it to Harry, who downed it after only a short sniff. It wasn’t as if he knew enough about potions to tell the difference between a deadly poison and a simple healing potion, but making that public knowledge would be just plain stupid.  
  
“Good, lay back down so I can feel your stomach.” He methodically rolled up his sleeves and then began to prod Harry’s stomach gently, gliding and tapping his strong, skilled fingers along Harry’s abdominal muscles.  
  
Harry could feel soothing, inquiring magic brush over his body, even permeating his skin, and he gasped, twisting away.  
  
“Mr. Potter, you have to lie still,” Rudolphus admonished.  
  
“What the hell were you doing?” Harry demanded angrily, wrapping his arms protectively around his middle as Fenrir growled in warning, bunching his muscles.  
  
“Making sure that all your inner organs are where they should be and healing the bruising,” Rudolphus explained.  
  
“Why don’t you give me one of your potions?” the green-eyed man asked suspiciously.  
  
“Because I’m a fully trained healer, Mr. Potter. Unlike a nurse like Madam Pomfrey, I do not require sometimes imprecise potions to do my work for me. This way is much more focused, and therefore the risk for side effects is minimised,” Rudolphus told him patiently. “I take it you never had this kind of treatment?”  
  
“No,” Harry said defiantly.  
  
“Then I apologise for not warning you. I know it is more invasive than what you are used to. With your permission, I would like to continue.”  
  
“Might as well.” Harry sighed, but spread out on the bed again, closing his eyes when Rudolphus’ hands once again started their exploration of his stomach.  
  
It didn’t hurt exactly, it wasn’t even unpleasant per se, but it felt unfamiliar and in a way wrong, and his own magic shifted in protest, though it was still too weak to push the healer away. He was grateful for Fenrir hovering next to him, observing the healer with keen, suspicious eyes and knew that anyone wanting to harm him would have to get past an angry werewolf. Then there were also his godfathers and David, who would intervene immediately if they thought Harry was in danger. Harry supposed he was quite safe.  
  
“Has Madam Pomfrey already told you what you have to be aware of with male pregnancies?” Rudolphus asked him when he was finished and wrote something on Harry’s patient chart.   
  
“Yes, but I wasn’t listening,” Harry answered, refusing to feel guilty. “I got some books, though.”  
  
Rudolphus nodded in understanding and added a few more notes. “Then I assume that you know about as much about your condition as I do.”  
  
“What?” Fenrir growled angrily. “What kind of healer are you?”  
  
“My area of expertise is mental illnesses,” the healer replied evenly. “But you have to consider that male pregnancies do not lend themselves to specialisation because of their uncommonness. I supervised two male pregnancies so far, thanks to my connection to old pureblood families, but if you find my credentials insufficient, I will endeavour to find a healer with more experience.”  
  
“How did they end?” Harry asked, sitting up.  
  
“One of the wizards had a healthy little girl, who is now going to Beauxbaton.” Rudolphus paused. “There were complications with the other pregnancy, and the wizard and the baby died at birth.”  
  
“You could have left that out,” Harry muttered.  
  
“I don’t think highly of lying, Mr. Potter,” the healer stated. “Male pregnancies are risky, and the chances of everything going smoothly are approximately fifty percent. Less than thirty percent with Muggle-raised wizards because they did not grow up with the knowledge that male pregnancies are even possible and often have a hard time accepting the changes to their bodies.”   
  
“What are you saying?” Harry asked with rising anger in his voice.  
  
“This pregnancy will not only be a strain for your body and health but also for your psyche,” the healer answered, as calm as ever. “And that is without putting into consideration who the other father is. With all due respect, Mr. Potter, but I must seriously warn you off this pregnancy, because even if we somehow manage to find a way to protect you against the baby’s attacks, I cannot guarantee that you will be in any state of mind to be a parent if you should survive the birth of your child.”  
  
“Are you saying that Harry will die?” Fenrir demanded.  
  
“That is exactly what I’m saying. Mr. Potter will likely not survive if he chooses to not have an abortion.”  
  
Strong arms closed around Harry’s slender waist. “This isn’t worth it, Harry. I won’t have you die because of this. Get an abortion.”  
  
Harry glared at him. “Enough! You can’t just change your mind every two minutes! First you wanted me to get rid of the baby, then you were all for keeping it and now you want to kill it again? I want you to shut up, think carefully and then give me your definite decision.”  
  
Fenrir grumbled, but one glance at the dark circles under Harry’s eyes made him nod reluctantly and press a kiss to the younger man’s neck. His arms stayed around Harry’s waist. Harry grasped Fenrir’s hands, squeezing tightly, before he looked up at the healer again.  
  
“Let’s just say I want to keep the baby. What would you do?”  
  
Rudolphus furrowed his brow in thought. “I would have to do some more research about werewolves and male pregnancies to find a way to minimise the risk for you during the full moons. Provided we find a way, you would have to come for weekly check-ups, and I would also suggest psychological counselling. There’s a small chance that your magic, considering how strong you are, will solve the purely physical problems on its own, but I would not count on it.”  
  
“Then please do that research,” Harry said evenly. “I can’t make such a decision without sufficient information.”  
  
“Of course, but you should decide as soon as possible,” Rudolphus advised. “Would it be agreeable to you if I consulted some experts about your case?”  
  
“Like who?” Harry asked suspiciously.   
  
“Severus Snape, for one. He knows far more about potions and werewolves than I do - ”  
  
“Snape?” Sirius exclaimed. “That bastard hates Harry and he hates werewolves. He’ll kill Harry the first chance he gets.”  
  
Voldemort sneered, and Harry only then noticed that he was still in the room. “Thank you for that valuable input, Black, but I can assure you that no harm will befall Harry at the hands of any of my Death Eaters.”  
  
“Severus is nothing if not professional,” Remus intervened.  
  
“A professional asshole,” Sirius snapped. “There was nothing professional about the way he treated Harry or you. He got you fired, Remus!”  
  
“He also brewed the Wolfsbane Potion for me so that I could teach in the first place,” Remus pointed out, ducking his head when Fenrir growled testily. “I asked him to, Alpha. I was too scared to face being a werewolf without anyone to help me.”  
  
“It’s alright, cub,” Fenrir murmured, resting a heavy hand on Remus’ neck and squeezing reassuringly. “You’re not alone anymore.”  
  
“I know.” Remus smiled shyly up at the taller werewolf. “But I still think that if Severus can help Harry, he will. He’s a good man.”  
  
“Of course, you would say that,” Sirius snapped testily. “Why don’t you go back to him if you like him so much?”  
  
“I couldn’t - ”  
  
“Why not? Doesn’t he want you anymore?” Sirius taunted.  
  
“I couldn’t go back to him because I never was with him,” Remus growled softly.  
  
“Sure, that’s why - ”   
  
“Guys, really, remember the pregnant wizard in your midst?” Harry tapped his fingers impatiently. “Healer Lestrange, if you want to contact Snape or someone else, do so.”  
  
“Thank you. I would like to put you under a monitoring spell and you should rest.” He stepped closer to Harry’s bed, waiting for the young man to get comfortable before he directed the blanket with his wand to cover Harry and then spoke a soft incantation. “Sleep, Mr. Potter, sleep.”  
  
Magic washed over Harry, his eyelids growing heavy within mere seconds. “What?”  
  
“Sleep now, Mr. Potter,” Rudolphus insisted, putting one hand on Harry’s forehead, and Harry finally succumbed to the call of sleep. “Impressive,” Rudolphus murmured, “that he managed to resist at all with his magic almost completely depleted.”  
  
“Take. Your. Hands. Off. What. Is. **Mine!** ” Fenrir stressed every word and almost crushed the healer’s hand with one of his own as he jerked it away from Harry’s face.  
  
“Mr. Greyback, would you be able to provide me with information pertaining to werewolf pregnancies and to werewolves in general?” Rudolphus asked calmly, massaging his hand, but Fenrir only growled.  
  
“Maybe I could help,” Remus offered with a cautious look at his Alpha, who didn’t even look up so intently was he focused on Harry’s relaxed face.   
  
“I’d appreciate that, maybe we can gather all the necessary information before Mr. Potter wakes again,” Rudolphus agreed. “If you would head down to the dungeons and explain the situation Severus, I’ll meet you in the healer’s ward in half an hour. I still have to tend to another patient.”  
  
“I hope I do not have to remind you that Potter’s case has absolute priority, Rudolphus,” Voldemort whispered menacingly. “I would be most displeased should he come to harm.”  
  
“Of course, my Lord.” The healer inclined his head respectfully, but didn’t renounce his visit to that other patient and left the room without further ado.  
  
ö_ö_ö  
  
The man on the bed was in his mid-thirties, but sorrows and pain had dug deep furrows into his face, made his cheeks sink, his hair grey his eyes lose their life. He didn’t move nor speak and still his eyes were open, staring at what only he could see. From time to time, his lips would form inaudible words or his hands would flex but almost without disturbing the clean white sheets, which were the only thing reminding of a hospital.  
  
“Hey there, how are you feeling today?” Rudolphus went through the routine of checking the patient’s readings, fluffing the pillows and straightening the blanket, waiting in vain for a response.  
  
He sighed, combing a hand through the younger man’s greying hair. “I don’t have that much time today, I’m afraid, but I thought we could go out for a little while tomorrow, get some fresh air. What do you say? Yes, it has been a while since we did that, hasn’t it?” He sighed again and then leaned down to plant a kiss on the other man’s forehead. “I miss you, little one, won’t you come back to me soon?”


	18. Knowledge

Harry didn’t know if he should cry or laugh hysterically at all the information the three men had just given him, Rudolphus with his usual calm, Snape with a sneer that told Harry that he had once again confirmed Snape’s worst suspicions and Remus with quiet insistence.  
  
“So that’s it?” Harry asked. “You didn’t find anything positive, not even a silver lining?”  
  
“My bite wasn’t contagious at least until I turned six so I’d assume that when your baby bites you, you wouldn’t become a werewolf,” Remus offered cautiously.  
  
“So we’re at ‘when’, huh?” Harry asked.  
  
“Did you finally manage to grasp that, Potter?” Snape mocked. “What you have in your stomach is as volatile as one of your so-called potions, and it’s only a matter of time until you reap what that beast of yours sowed.”  
  
Fenrir showed his impressive teeth, but Harry’s vice-like grip on his hand prevented him from attacking the Potion’s Master. “I doubt that you’d even get it up, Snape.”  
  
“In contrast to some, I use Contraception Charms,” Snape retorted. “Oh, I forgot, you’re only a werewolf, you don’t have magic, do you, beast?”  
  
Fenrir roared in anger, and even Harry’s hand in his couldn’t stop him this time. Snape flew across the room, hitting the wall with a sickening thud, and Fenrir stepped close to tower over him. “One more word from you, wizard, and I’ll show you how much damage I can do even without waving a stick and muttering under my breath.”  
  
Snape’s black eyes were slightly unfocused, but eventually they landed on Fenrir and narrowed into a glare. “It figures that you would have to resort to violence as you’re too primitive to make your point with words.”  
  
Fenrir growled, his hands once more clenching into fists.  
  
“Fen, would you please get a rein on your temper?” Harry asked in exasperation, flopping back down on the bed and rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I don’t want to have to throw up just because you feel like beating Snape to a pulp and splashing blood everywhere. Fen!”  
  
The werewolf grunted, but eventually turned away from the Potion’s Master and sat down on the bed next to Harry, a bit roughly petting Harry’s hair. “What do you want to do, small one?”  
  
Harry closed his eyes, burying in Fenrir’s protective warmth. “I don’t know.”  
  
“Cub, I know this decision can’t be easy for you, but please don’t make me lose you,” Remus murmured, taking Harry’s hand. “There’s only a very, very small chance that the baby will live even if you decide in its favour.”  
  
“I know,” Harry whispered. “Don’t you think I know, Remy?”  
  
The werewolf just squeezed his hand in apology.   
  
“And you’re sure you haven’t found anything?” Harry asked, mostly addressing Rudolphus.  
  
“I’m afraid not, Mr. Potter.” Rudolphus shook his head. “We can of course continue looking, but between the little time we have until the next full moon and the scarce information there is to be found, I doubt we will have any more success. The only thing I could offer you is to erect a magical bubble around the foetus for the duration of the full moon to protect you from its attacks.”  
  
“How would that work?” Harry asked, latching onto the smallest of hopes.  
  
“It is a method that is used to protect vital organs from malignant curses while the healers search for a cure or counter curse,” Rudolphus explained. “I would use it to contain the baby’s damage to your uterus, but you would still be in pain and might even bleed to death if the baby’s attacks grow too vicious, which we have to consider as a very real possibility.”  
  
“But... Fen, what do you think?” Harry turned to the werewolf. “Remember, no changing your mind again.”  
  
The werewolf grunted, rubbing his hand over Harry’s stomach while he thought. There was no denying that he wanted a child, this child, Harry’s and his child. He was an Alpha, it was in his blood, in his nature, to want to protect and to cherish, to educate and to lead, to hold and to keep. He remembered how it was to bring up Chetan, tell him goodnight stories about brave werewolves, haughty unicorns and vile wizards, tuck him in at night, show him how to hunt and make weapons. But while he had been caged in Azkaban, Chetan had grown up and now he was no longer the little fur ball who had playfully snatched for Fenrir’s tail and had yet to learn the proper respect for his Alpha. He missed that, missed the feeling of being needed and loved unconditionally. His pack had managed just fine without him all those years.  
  
He looked down at Harry, imagining what their child would look like, if they would have a boy or a girl, with Harry’s wild raven hair or his own silver, golden or green eyes, tanned or moonlight skin, slender or muscular built. Wouldn’t it be worth it?  
  
No, it wouldn’t. He already had a family, his pack, and he had Harry, his beautiful, sweet, sexy little wizard. And Harry was in pain, after only one full moon and despite a magic potion and several hours of sleep, he was still in pain; Fenrir knew from the tension in his small frame, the way he bit his lip every once in a while as if to contain a whimper of pain. He couldn’t stand the thought of losing Harry, seeing him die such a painful death just because he was selfish enough to wish for a child of his own blood.  
  
“It’s too dangerous. We’ll get rid of it,” Fenrir said, trying hard to keep his voice strong, neutral and reassuring, though he wasn’t sure in how far he succeeded.  
  
Harry looked around the room, trying to gauge what the others were thinking. Remus gave him a painfilled smile and a nod; Sirius looked relieved. Voldemort was clearly annoyed, but nodded decisively as he caught Harry’s gaze, and something in Harry clenched with resolve and defiance. Snape was slowly getting up from the floor, all the lines of his face speaking of his impatience to be out of the room, away from the werewolves and rid of Harry’s presence. Rudolphus met Harry’s eyes calmly but with something like sympathy in the honeyed depths. David was tense, standing next to Harry, uncomfortable with so many people in a small room, and Harry was sure that he was clutching his wand in his robe pocket. Nonetheless, he managed to incline his head in agreement.  
  
“Dammit,” Harry murmured softly. “It would have been nice if at least one of you had been on my side...”  
  
“What do you mean, you silly little human?” Fenrir growled warningly.  
  
“I’m going to wait at least one more full moon to see how it works with the bubble method,” Harry replied matter-of-factly. “I’ll give my baby at least that.”  
  
“Potter, are you so mentally retarded that you don’t see the stupidity of what you’re saying?” Voldemort hissed. “If you do that, you can already start digging your grave because that is where you will inevitably end.”  
  
“Do not underestimate me again, Voldemort,” Harry retorted. “My mother saved my life though it was thought impossible, and the least I owe her, my child and myself is not to give up immediately once things become a little more complicated.”  
  
“It’s not a little more complicated, Potter,” Voldemort spat. “This child is your death sentence. And I will not allow that.” He whipped out his wand, but Harry had anticipated his move and aimed his own wand at the Dark Lord.  
  
“You do not want to mess with another Potter parent,” he said insistently. “Lower your wand.”  
  
“Just think about it, Potter, you could put all the blame on me and say with a clear conscience that you would never have killed your child,” Voldemort offered almost gently, luring, seducing, persuasive. “It will be quick, painless, peaceful.”  
  
“Lower your wand,” Harry repeated coldly. “I don’t need such cheap solace because I’m going to keep my baby and I swear if you so much as try to harm one single hair on my child’s head...”  
  
“You’ll do what, Harry Potter?” Voldemort mocked. “Try to kill me? Don’t you think that might turn out a little redundant? Or will you provoke another war and condemn yourself to another decade of bloodshed and violence?”  
  
“I will kill myself and blame it on you,” Harry snapped. “I’m selfish enough to let others take my revenge for me, fight my war, and with my death the Unbreakable Vow I had the Light supporters swear will expire. For the last time, lower your damn wand!”   
  
Voldemort reluctantly obeyed, contempt for Harry’s stupidity and grudging respect for his actions mixing in his expression. “Suit yourself, Harry Potter. I expect you in my office on Thursday at noon.”  
  
With that he strode from the room. The door banged shut behind him.   
  
“Anyone else?” Harry asked sarcastically. “But I’m not going to change my mind, I can tell you now.”  
  
“Why did you even ask my opinion?” Fenrir snarled, grasping Harry’s shoulder, his large hands surely leaving bruises. “If you were going to completely ignore it, anyway.”  
  
“I’m not ignoring it, nor you,” Harry said in reply. “But it is my body, Fen, and so I think that my own opinion is a bit more important than yours.”  
  
“But of course, it’s all yours, isn’t it? Your life, your body, your decisions, your child. I have absolutely no say in it. It’s not my child, after all,” Fenrir growled testily.  
  
“Of course it is, but you just decided against it,” Harry murmured. “It would have been different if you had said I should keep it and I didn’t want to, but as it is you’re not losing anything by my decision.”  
  
“Except for you, you mean,” Fenrir grumbled darkly, locking Harry in a possessive embrace. “You don’t know what you’re signing up for with this decision.”  
  
“And neither does any of you,” Harry replied softly. “Fen, I promise I’ll think about it again after the next full moon, but I have to at least try. Please.”  
  
“Fine.” Fenrir nipped Harry’s neck, placing a kiss on the same spot immediately afterwards. “But you better not make me regret this, white one.”  
  
“Have I ever?” Harry smirked up at him, wriggling to loosen Fenrir’s hold on him and then comfortably slumped in his arms. “Remus, you aren’t angry at me, are you?”  
  
“No, cub, I’m just worried.” Remus heaved a deep sigh. “But I guess I should have expected this, after all you’re your mother’s son. She would have done exactly the same thing.”  
  
“Thanks,” Harry murmured and then had to suppress a yawn. “Healer Lestrange, if you have a bit more time I’d appreciate it if you could tell me once more what I have to be aware of and consider.”  
  
“Of course, Mr. Potter,” Rudolphus said, motioning Harry to get comfortable and then started his lecture about what Harry should and shouldn’t do.  
  
Harry couldn’t honestly say that he gathered more from what Rudolphus told them than he had from Madam Pomfrey or his books as he found himself drifting in and out of wakefulness. All in all, he found all the dos and don’ts rather tiresome and he thought that most of them were dictated more by common sense than by any obscure inside knowledge of medicine. Of course, he should eat regularly and sleep enough, and no, he wouldn’t start smoking or drinking alcohol.  
  
“What about sex?” Sirius demanded with hope in his voice, and Fenrir growled.   
  
Rudolphus blinked. “You mean of the rougher variety?” Sirius nodded impatiently. “I don’t believe that will be a problem, as long as Mr. Potter is comfortable, of course.” Sirius face fell in disappointment; Fenrir laughed.  
  
“Erm, yes, thank you, Sirius, but I think I’ll be fine,” Harry muttered. “Healer Lestrange, was that all?”  
  
“Let me do one last check-up.” Rudolphus drew his wand and examined Harry quickly but efficiently, finally declaring him ready to go. “I’ll see you in one week’s time, Mr. Potter. Please feel free to contact me should you have more questions and call me immediately at the smallest indication of pain or other complications.”  
  
“I will, thank you, Healer,” Harry said softly. “David, can I talk to you for a minute?”  
  
David nodded, helping Harry off of the bed while skilfully avoiding Fenrir’s glare and touch. They came to a halt in a small alcove.  
  
“And?”  
  
“It’s your decision. I certainly wouldn’t have made the same choice, but I think in a way I can understand and even admire your attitude,” David replied.  
  
“Thank you, but I was wondering more about your date.” Harry smiled encouragingly. “I wanted to ask you earlier, but I had other things on my mind, sorry.”  
  
“It’s no problem. It wasn’t that spectacular in any case.” David shrugged. “Draco didn’t try anything.”  
  
“Draco it is now, huh?” Harry chuckled. “Tell me.”  
  
David sighed, rolling his eyes. “We went for a walk, had lunch, that kind of thing.”  
  
“David,” Harry whined. “Details! Where did you go? What did you do? What did he say? Did you enjoy it?”  
  
“To Edinburgh. Walk around. A lot. And it wasn’t too bad,” David replied curtly, and Harry threw his hands up in exasperation.  
  
“Fine, be that way,” he muttered. “Are you going to go out again?”  
  
“Wednesday,” David revealed uncomfortably, and Harry smiled brilliantly. “There’s nothing to grin about. It made him shut up faster when I just agreed.”  
  
“Sure,” Harry teased, rolling his eyes.   
  
“If you weren’t pregnant, I’d hex you now,” David grumbled, but pulled Harry into an embrace when he saw the black-haired man sway on his feet.   
  
“You be careful, alright, Patronus? You’d make a lot of people sad if you got yourself killed.”  
  
“I wouldn’t want that,” Harry murmured softly. “But I always did impossible things, didn’t I? And I have a knack for surviving.”  
  
David didn’t answer, but led Harry back to the chambers they had just left, making sure that the younger man was safely encased in Fenrir’s arms before he turned around. “Come see me when you’re back at the castle.”  
  
Harry nodded and nudged Fenrir’s chin with his nose. “We’ll apparate this time, wolfie.”  
  
“Forget it.” Fenrir snarled. “I can carry you if you’re too weak.”  
  
“You can walk if you’re too afraid,” Harry replied. “I’m apparating.”  
  
Fenrir growled testily, but Harry was too tired to argue, pecking Fenrir’s lips, and closed his eyes. “You can carry me to the Apparation Point, Fen, but then I want to sleep.”  
  
The werewolf grunted in agreement, scooping Harry up in his arms. “Remus, we’re going. Get rid of your puppy.”  
  
“I was wondering if I could come with you,” Sirius spoke up, and Fenrir glared at him. “To support Harry and Remus.”  
  
“Fen, let him come.” Harry sighed, though he wasn’t all that thrilled about the prospect. “I just want to sleep.”  
  
“Fine.” Fenrir carded his fingers through Harry’s hair. “But he better behave. I don’t need another troublemaker.”  
  
“Who’s a troublemaker?” Harry mumbled sleepily.  
  
“Hypothetically speaking of course,” Fenrir taunted softly.  
  
“Good.” Harry sighed. “Because else I would be offended.”  
  
“I wouldn’t want that, little sweet one,” Fenrir murmured, while carrying Harry’s small burden easily.   
  
Fenrir’s steps left deep hollows in the snow that was only slowly melting, winter not quite ready yet to give way to spring. Harry closed his eyes so as not to see the murky, brownish grey mush, instead breathing Fenrir’ unique woody smell, feeling how it calmed his frayed nerves.  
  
“Pretty little thing,” Fenrir whispered lowly. “What about that plopping-thingy now? Are you awake? I guess, we’ll walk then.”  
  
“Dream on,” Harry replied, blinking one eye open. “Hold on tight.” He grasped one of Fenrir’s hands with both of his, concentrated briefly and whisked them away, trusting Remus and Sirius to follow on their own accord.  
  
Fenrir growled out a curse as the squeezing feeling of disapparation cost him his balance. He barely caught himself from hitting the frozen ground and from burying Harry beneath him, supporting his whole weight with one arm, while the other still tried to hold Harry. Harry’s soft laughter tickled his ear, slender arms wrapped around his neck.  
  
“Maybe I should have warned you?” Harry mused, slinging his legs around Fenrir’s waist as the werewolf got up. “Upset stomach?”  
  
Fenrir grunted unwillingly. “I hate magic.”  
  
“My kind of magic,” Harry corrected. “You’re a magical creature, you have magic as well.”  
  
“I’m a werewolf,” Fenrir protested, and Harry chuckled.  
  
“That’s what I said, wolfie, I can feel your magic thrumming under your skin when you touch me, shimmering in your eyes. For me you are magic.”  
  
“Stupid little wizard,” Fenrir grumbled. “Why is magic that important to you?”  
  
Before Harry could answer, two plops told of the arrival of Sirius and Remus, and at the same time, the rest of the pack crowded around them, having decided that they had allowed Fenrir and Harry enough privacy. Sawyer lunged at Sirius, twisting the black-haired man’s arms behind his back.  
  
“Who are you, wizard? What are you doing here?” he demanded. “Alpha, what should I do with him?”  
  
Fenrir was tempted to tell Sawyer to get rid of the intrusive man but thought better of it since Harry surely wouldn’t appreciate that. “He came with us. He can stay as long as he doesn’t cause any trouble. Remus, if you want to share your hut, you may. Otherwise he can sleep outside.”  
  
“Thank you, Alpha,” Remus murmured, tapping Sawyer’s arms to make him release Sirius.  
  
Sawyer did so with a grunt, pushing the Animagus at Remus, who caught and stabilised him. His hands stayed on Sirius’ hips even after that, and Harry smiled at his two godfathers when he noticed how Remus managed to calm Sirius with a bit of physical contact. He rested his cheek back against Fenrir’s broad shoulder because he still felt kind of shaky and crumpling to the ground would probably be even more embarrassing than being carried for a moment longer.  
  
Someone cleared his or her throat, and Harry peeked over his shoulder. “Harry, I’m sorry for the loss of your child,” Maya said softly, awkwardly putting a hand on Harry’s back and rubbing briefly. “I can’t imagine how hard it must have been, but you made the right choice.”  
  
Harry arched an eyebrow, looking around at the other werewolves, who all had expressions of compassion, sorrow, relief and the old hostility on their faces. “If you think that an abortion would have been the right choice, I’m afraid you must think me rather stupid. I’m still pregnant and intend to stay pregnant for a while yet.”  
  
Shock and surprise and incredulity now warred on their hard, strong features. “But... how?”  
  
Fenrir answered for him, explaining everything that had happened. While doing so, he carried Harry to his own hut and set Harry down on a nest of furs, making sure that the younger man was warm and comfortable.  
  
“Harry decided that he wanted to try again,” he finished, leaving no doubt how much he thought about that idea. “We’ll see what comes of this, my stupid little thing.”  
  
“Sure.” Harry sighed morosely, plucking at a wet strand of hair.   
  
“What now, sweet one?” Fenrir demanded gently, kissing Harry’s temple. “Are you in pain?”  
  
“Just tired,” Harry mumbled. “And I’d appreciate it if you could all stop looking at me as if I’m already lying on my death bed.”  
  
“We’re just worried, cub,” Remus spoke up.  
  
“I’m worried as well, but I still know what I’m doing, and it would be nice if you could just trust me,” Harry pleaded. “And I don’t like this apocalyptic mood, Remy.”  
  
“Of course I trust you, but it’s my job to worry,” Remus stated with a small smile. “I’m afraid you’ll have to bear with me.”  
  
“Fine,” Harry agreed. “I’ll bear with you, but everyone else should just stop staring.” He sent glares round at the werewolves, saving his most vicious one for Fenrir. “I’m fine, I’m alive, and it’s too late to worry now anyway.”  
  
“It’s never too late,” Fenrir grumbled. “You can still-”  
  
“Shut up,” Harry snapped. “I don’t want to hear that I should reconsider because unlike you I made my choice, and I don’t intend to change my mind as the fancy strikes me.”  
  
Fenrir growled, nipping Harry’s earlobe in warning. “Watch that pretty mouth of yours. I just wanted to make the right choice and when I did, you ignored me.”  
  
“Just shut up, Fen,” Harry repeated sternly. “Or you’ll be sleeping outside today.”  
  
“You can’t throw me out of my own hut,” Fenrir still argued, and Harry glared at him.  
  
“Try me!”  
  
“You can’t let him sleep outside,” Maya spoke up in a scandalised tone. “He’s carrying your child, Alpha.”  
  
Harry looked up in surprise at the unexpected aid, patting Fenrir’s arm absently when the Alpha growled. “Yes, wolfie, do listen to her. You wouldn’t want me to die out there in the cold... or to go back to the castle.”  
  
“You won’t be going back,” Fenrir growled.  
  
“Then you’ll shut up now,” Harry concluded with finality, getting comfortable in his nest of furs. “If you want to talk, please do so outside. I want to sleep.”  
  
He pulled a large bear fur over himself and demonstratively closed his eyes and evened out his breathing. They weren’t fooled, he knew, but when he felt Remus’ dry lips on his forehead, he knew his decision had been accepted. Sirius mimicked Remus’ actions, running his hands briefly through Harry’s hair. Several pairs of feet left the hut, though Fenrir’s heavy presence lingered for a bit longer. Another fur was spread over him and finally the door closed and Harry breathed a sigh of relief.  
  
ö_ö_ö  
  
Harry woke again when Fenrir re-entered the hut, trying to be quiet as he shed his clothes and carefully spooned around his younger lover.  
  
The black-haired man turned around in the loose embrace and initiated a passionate kiss, moving to straddle the werewolf’s hips with an impish grin on his face. Fenrir’s golden eyes flashed with unadulterated lust as he grasped Harry by the hips, rubbing his growing erection hard against Harry’s pliant body.   
  
Harry moaned in appreciation, pulling his sweater over his chest before leaning down to enjoy the new opportunity for skin-on-skin contact. Fenrir moved one hand to Harry’s back, holding him close as he spun them around so that Harry came to lie under him, Fenrir between his spread legs.   
  
“Not so tired anymore, are you?” he murmured, while his hands worked feverishly to rid Harry of his pants.  
  
“No, not anymore.” Harry smirked. “Though, I’m feeling rather sex-deprived.”  
  
“We can’t have that,” Fenrir replied with a smirk of his own. “No one is to say that I can’t keep my lover satisfied.”  
  
“Who ever would dare?” Harry asked rhetorically, sliding his hands over the hard planes of Fenrir’s chest and slipped a little lower, more beneath the werewolf  
  
He nudged their hips together, their arousals brushing and grinding briefly, before Harry dropped back down on the furs with a small sigh. Fenrir’s hands massaged Harry’s buttocks while his mouth wandered over Harry’s exposed neck. Suddenly he hesitated, stilling almost completely.  
  
“Do you have to be treated like a princess?”  
  
“Not if you don’t want to,” Harry replied. “Not now. Come, Fen, don’t make me wait.”  
  
Fenrir growled happily and took up his previous ministrations, nibbling Harry’s mouth and finally capturing his lips while his hands fumbled for the little jar of grease he had put somewhere underneath the furs. Harry chuckled breathlessly when Fenrir drew back and snuffled his neck.  
  
“That tickles.”  
  
Fenrir grinned, satisfied that he had managed to draw a smile from his young lover and even allowed Harry to reverse their positions again. Harry took the jar from the werewolf and kept the hand that had held it, quickly coating Fenrir’s fingers with grease. He lifted up, wriggling his butt in invitation. Fenrir didn’t need to be asked twice and pushed one finger deep inside of Harry, plundering the sweet warmth until a small gasp from Harry told him he had found the right angle.  
  
Harry’s green eyes were smouldering, luminescent in the dim light of the hut, and Fenrir doubted that his eyes were as wild or as feral, that they had ever held such a fiery intensity. They fluttered close as Fenrir pushed another finger in beside the first, and Harry rocked himself smoothly, groaning and moaning as his pleasure spot was rubbed.   
  
Fenrir added another finger, and Harry stilled, breathing slowly and deeply to try to relax his muscles. The werewolf smirked and with a twist of his body he brought Harry back under him, thrusting into the younger man and then freezing because he didn’t want to hurt Harry after all. Just show him his place.   
  
Harry groaned again, equal parts need and discomfort, wishing that Fenrir would give him a moment to adjust. But of course the werewolf wasn’t one for patience or waiting and soon after Fenrir started to slide slowly in and out of Harry, speeding up with every thrust, his hands on Harry’s hips holding the black-haired man in his place.   
  
“Look at me,” Fenrir growled, for some reason angry that Harry’s lids obstructed his view on the emerald gems.   
  
Harry’s eyes snapped open, laughter and mirth dancing in them as he captured Fenrir’s golden gaze. Fenrir rumbled in pleasure, wrapping his hand around Harry’s arousal and stroking in time with his thrusts. Harry tilted his hips, countering each of Fenrir’s thrusts with a little push of his own, arching against the werewolf.  
  
There was no hurry in their movements, force but no violence, a quiet focusedness on the other that went far beyond the intimacy of casual sex. Harry finally came with a suppressed moan, his fingers clutching almost desperately to Fenrir’s forearms as he rode out the waves of his orgasm. The werewolf roared out his climax soon after, pounding with abandon into the slender man until he shot his seed into Harry. He leant down and brushed a kiss over Harry’s lips, smiling a teeth-baring smile when Harry blinked up at him.  
  
While Harry was still recovering, Fenrir started rocking in and out of him again, running his hands all over Harry’s chest and sides, flicking his fingers over Harry’s nipples, tweaking and scratching his nails over the sensitive nubs. Harry’s eyes fluttered; small sighs escaped between his kiss-swollen lips, between the sharp white teeth biting into his bottom lip; Harry’s cheeks were flushed; a thin sheen of sweat and the fine hairs on his arms and legs made his skin look like velvet. Fenrir had never seen anyone so beautiful.   
  
When Harry’s body began to show interest in Fenrir’s actions again, he moved one of his hands to Harry’s reawakening arousal, caressing it at a leisurely pace. A second orgasm was drawn from Harry, and he slumped tiredly into the furs, shifting his legs slightly to prevent them from cramping and instead looped them comfortably over the small of Fenrir’s back.   
  
Fenrir swooped down for a kiss, teasing Harry’s lips with his tongue until they opened for him. He wanted more. He probably would always want more, he smirked to himself, and pushed to the hilt into the black-haired man, withdrew slowly and reluctantly, drawing a keening wail from Harry.  
  
“Shh, little one,” he murmured, close to Harry’s lips. “I’m not finished with you yet, alright?”  
  
“Alright.” Harry sighed, pushing up slightly to peck Fenrir’s lips. “As long as you do all the work because I’m done in for.”  
  
“Of course, my sweet wolf,” Fenrir answered, and engaged Harry in a much more steamy kiss, rearranging his black-haired lover to suit his needs.  
  
With Harry lying on his side, one leg drawn to his chest and Fenrir’s arm keeping it in place there, the werewolf entered the younger man again, rolling his hips languidly so that he remained pressed against Harry’s back, his erection sheathed in Harry’s tight heat. Minimal friction but maximal closeness. Harry sighed in bliss.  
  
However, when Fenrir reached out for Harry’s cock, Harry just captured his hand and rested it on his chest. Fenrir nipped Harry’s throat in answer and then coated Harry’s insides for the third time with his semen, burying his broad nose in the soft hair at the nape of Harry’s neck.  
  
Fenrir recovered quickly, kissing a line along Harry’s neck and collarbone, grumbling happily when Harry sent him a lazy smile and snuggled deeper into his embrace. “That was good. Thank you, my Alpha.”  
  
“It was my pleasure, pretty human.” Fenrir smirked, releasing Harry’s leg as he withdrew carefully from his lover. “With a bit more training, you’ll be able to keep up with me, I’m sure.”  
  
“I like the sound of that,” Harry mumbled. “But I don’t think you’ve anything to complain about, wolfie.”  
  
“No, I don’t,” Fenrir agreed, kissing Harry’s temple. “Neither do you.”  
  
Harry grinned, noting the veiled question in Fenrir’s statement, and nodded. He mumbled a quick Cleaning Charm to get rid of the residues of their activities. Fenrir grunted at the shiver of magic that ran over him but didn’t protest. Harry wiggled a little, trying to get comfortable and finally found a comfortable spot lying on his front.  
  
“What are you doing?” Fenrir exclaimed, jerking Harry up again. “You can’t lie like that!”  
  
“Why not?” Harry asked in annoyance, pushing Fenrir’s hands away from him. “What is wrong with you?”  
  
“You can’t lie on your stomach! You’ll... you’ll squeeze the baby!” Fenrir retorted.  
  
Harry snorted derisively. “Oh, really? Do you think I’m that fat that I’ll crush my baby with my weight, huh? You just pounded into me like there was no tomorrow and now you’re worried because I want to lie on my stomach? Merlin, you’re such a stupid hypocrite. I read the books while you were still busy plotting ways to kill my child.”  
  
The black-haired man got his wand from the pocket of his jeans and with a muttered incantation he held a book in his hand, thrusting it against Fenrir’s chest. “Read it and unless you can show me written proof of this little theory of yours, I’ll sleep however the hell I please. Goodnight.”  
  
He demonstratively turned on his stomach again, bunching some furs to make a pillow and closed his eyes. Fenrir reached out for Harry and despite the Animagus’ protests lifted him up, bedding him on his own chest, their stomachs touching. He then opened the book Harry had given him.  
  
“Sleep, little one.”  
  
“Want me to give you some light?” Harry mumbled into Fenrir’s chest. “I don’t mind.”  
  
“I can see just fine,” Fenrir returned, a bit testily and Harry closed his eyes again with a mental shrug.


	19. Education

Harry rubbed his eyes sleepily, sitting up on his comfortable, breathing mattress, and met golden eyes over the rim of a book titled _A Wizard’s Guide to a Healthy Pregnancy_.   
  
“Did you sleep at all, Fen?” he asked in surprise.  
  
“I’m reading, sweet one,” the werewolf replied, his eyes returning to the book. “Why don’t you go get some breakfast?”  
  
“Fine, if you want to sulk.” Harry shrugged and got up, stretching languidly to see if that would rouse Fenrir’s interest; he was sorely disappointed when Fenrir didn’t even deign him a glance.  
  
With a small pout, he got dressed, that too in as sexy a way as he could muster, and finally left the hut, banging the door behind him. The fresh morning air halted his steps and cooled his temper.  
  
“Harry!” Sirius bounded over to him, and Harry wasn’t overly annoyed to see him. “I was just about to wake you for breakfast. Where’s the big guy?”   
  
“He’s in a huff,” Harry said indifferently, tensing a little when Sirius pulled him into a brief hug. “But breakfast sure sounds nice.”  
  
“No morning sickness?” Sirius asked steering Harry in the direction of the happily crackling fire where the rest of the pack was already sitting.   
  
“Don’t remind me,” Harry muttered. “I’m trying to ignore it.”  
  
“Good luck with that. It never worked with Lily.” Sirius laughed. “Right, Moony?”  
  
“Morning, cub.” Remus smiled, pulling Harry down next to him on a pile of furs. “Don’t listen to Sirius, sympathy is not his forte.”  
  
Harry returned the smile, leaning against his favourite godfather, as Remus put an arm around him. With a contented sigh, he stretched his feet towards the fire, welcoming the warmth that slowly seeped through the soles of his sneakers, and smiled a shy greeting at the other werewolves.  
  
“Good morning, Harry.” Maya said, briefly looking up at him before going back to stirring the soup that was cooking over the fire. “I made vegetable soup, would you like some?”  
  
“Yes, thanks.” Harry gratefully accepted the large wooden bowl with the steaming dish, breathing in the delicious scent.  
  
“Bread?” Maya offered and Harry nodded eagerly.  
  
“This tastes great,” Harry said, reaching for the bread and dunking it into the soup.   
  
“I’m glad to hear that, you have to eat for two now, you know?” Maya said gently. “Chetan, do get another fur for Harry.”  
  
The young werewolf got up without protest.  
  
“You don’t have to pamper me,” Harry argued, though he snuggled happily in the soft fur Chetan spread over his shoulders. “I’m not an invalid.”  
  
“Of course not,” Maya said, while she added meat to the soup for the rest of the pack.   
  
“Then why are you acting like that?” Harry asked, finishing his soup. “I don’t want you to be nice to me just because Fen threatened you.”  
  
“Great, then we can get back to acting normal,” Lin stated, roughly kicking for Harry’s feet.  
  
“Lin, shut up,” Bryan growled warningly. “What Harry did warrants our respect.”  
  
“What I did?” Harry demanded to know.  
  
“To decide for a werewolf’s baby,” Bryan clarified. “None of us would have expected that from you, and it showed us that we had a false image of you. We would like to start over, with you as part of the pack. And the pack sticks together.”  
  
“Oh, I guess,” Harry mumbled, not sure if he really liked their reasoning, but not in the right mood to argue with them; Remus squeezed Harry’s hand under the fur.  
  
“What have the Alpha and you planned for today?” Sawyer asked, striving to tinge his growling voice with civility and friendliness.  
  
“Don’t know.” Harry shrugged. “Fenrir is reading in his hut. I’ll doubt he’ll come out any time soon.”  
  
“What?” Chetan and Maya exclaimed almost simultaneously.  
  
“Oh, I gave him a book about male pregnancies because... well, he seems to find it interesting, in any case,” Harry answered. “It won’t do him any harm to get a bit more information.”  
  
“But the Alpha can’t read,” Chetan argued. “I asked him once to teach me, and he said that it was an unnecessary human skill he had never bothered to learn.”  
  
It was Harry’s turn to exclaim a “what?” staring incredulously at the werewolves. “He told me that he can’t read that well, he never said that he couldn’t do it at all. You sent him letters for Merlin’s Sake! Why ever would you do that if he couldn’t read them?!”  
  
“So that he would have our scent, know that we were still alive and safe and that we were waiting for him,” Bryan answered matter-of-factly. “What I wrote was more for the guards.”  
  
“But... Oh, that idiotic, proud man,” Harry muttered in annoyance, getting to his feet.   
  
He went back into Fenrir’s hut, not bothering to knock, and perched himself once again over the werewolf’s chest. Before Fenrir could say something, he took the book out of his hands. “You don’t have to pretend, big bad wolf. I’ll read it out to you after you’ve had some breakfast. Come on.” He put a hand to Fenrir’s cheek and leaned down to peck his lips.  
  
Fenrir studied Harry with keen eyes, then drew him into a fierce embrace, soon reversing their positions so that Harry was pinned down by Fenrir’s body hovering over him. With a small growl, he crushed their lips together, invading Harry’s mouth with his tongue as Harry slung his arms around Fenrir’s strong neck. The werewolf’s hands slid under Harry’s jumper, caressing the soft, smooth skin with his roughened finger pads. Harry moaned in appreciation, and Fenrir barked out a laugh.  
  
“You don’t mind that much now that your lover is an illiterate, do you?” Fenrir mocked, bruising Harry’s lips with the force of his next kiss.  
  
“I mind that you lied to me,” Harry returned softly, tugging on Fenrir’s silver hair. “That I mind indeed, wolfie.”  
  
“You would,” Fenrir murmured, obediently lowering his mouth to Harry’s for another kiss. “Reading is useless, anyway.”  
  
“Too bad for you because you’re going to learn it regardless.” Harry yawned, grinning at Fenrir’s incredulous growl. “Come on, Fen, we can start after breakfast.”  
  
“Or not at all,” Fenrir offered, but helped Harry to his feet, straightening Harry’s clothes. “I think Chetan and Tristan wanted to go hunting with me.”  
  
“And I think you’re just looking for excuses,” Harry replied, rubbing his stomach in hopes of stemming off his rising nausea. “But we can ask them, if it makes you happy.”  
  
He grasped Fenrir’s hand, pulling him into the brightness of the day. Fenrir took the lead as soon as they were in sight of the pack, guiding Harry to the fire. The werewolf gratefully took the warm soup from his Beta’s mate, but Harry felt bile rise in his throat and twisted out of Fenrir’s hold to throw up in the privacy of the forest.  
  
“So much for ignoring it,” he groused, when he returned, plopping down on his furs and burying his head between his knees. “Sirius, I hate it when someone other than me is right.”  
  
His godfather laughed, and Harry groaned piteously as his stomach started cramping, sending shockwaves of pain through his slender body.  
  
“My poor little wolf,” Fenrir murmured. “Maybe you should lie back down.”  
  
“Maybe you should keep your soup away from me,” Harry snapped testily. “And don’t fucking touch me; that did enough harm already.”  
  
He batted at Fenrir’s hand that reached out for him, curling up on his side. “Remy, make me feel better, please.”  
  
“Oh, cub.” Remus pulled him into his arms. “Breathe, cub. It’ll pass.” The former professor conjured a wet towel with which he wiped Harry’s forehead before putting it on his neck. “I’ll get you some saltine crackers the next time we go to the castle. They always helped Lily.”  
  
“This is annoying,” Harry stated in a whisper. “And it’s pathetic that I’m comforted by the thought that my mother went through this as well.”  
  
“It’s not pathetic, cub,” Remus murmured comfortingly. “I don’t like being sick, either. And you should have heard James when he was sick. He could whine and pity himself for hours, even though he claimed to be too weak to talk.” Remus smiled in encouragement at his godson, kissing his temple. “In comparison, you’re a very pleasant patient.”  
  
Harry snorted and then groaned as another wave of nausea assaulted him. “Being pregnant is no fun. How am I supposed to gain weight if I throw up everything I eat?” Harry demanded.  
  
“The morning sickness will pass,” Remus assured him. “Maybe we could walk a few steps?”  
  
Harry nodded and got sluggishly to his feet, leaning on his godfather. They walked and swayed a slow circle around the clearing and gradually Harry began to feel better, though he still was kind of nauseous when they sat back down. He dropped himself between Fenrir’s muscular legs, snuggling into the werewolf’s hard chest.  
  
“Sorry for snapping.”  
  
“It’s fine, little sweet one,” Fenrir murmured, kissing Harry’s nose. “But next time, you’ll come to me. I can do that walking around and brabbling just as well.”  
  
Harry chose not to answer, and Fenrir’s arms tightened around him in a show of possessiveness. He growled, and Harry smiled tiredly, pecking his slightly bearded cheek.  
  
“Go get your book, wolfie,” he ordered, “so that you can learn how to read and to write.”  
  
“I’m afraid I have other plans, Harry. Maybe another time,” Fenrir said quickly, and Harry glared at him. “I told you Tristan and Chetan wanted to go hunting with me.”  
  
“Actually, I wouldn’t mind learning to read, either,” Chetan offered cautiously, shrinking under Fenrir’s furious look.   
  
“Then you’re cordially invited to join us.” Harry smiled. “Remus, you’ll help, won’t you?”  
  
“Sure, cub.” Remus also received a glare from his Alpha.  
  
“I’d also like to learn how to write properly,” Sawyer admitted, ducking his head to avoid Fenrir’s angry eyes.  
  
“I’m sure we could also learn a bit more from you,” Maya said for Bryan and herself, not cowed in the least by Fenrir’s growl. “Our skills are rudimentary at best.”  
  
Tristan merely nodded when Harry looked at him in askance.  
  
“What about you, Lin?” Harry asked pleasantly. “Would you like to give it a try?”  
  
The female werewolf snarled at Harry. “Forget that, human. I don’t need your help. Literacy is a waste of time, just like you are. I’ll go hunting with the Alpha.”  
  
Fenrir growled, this time at the she-wolf, who cocked her head in confusion. His eyes never leaving Lin’s and with demonstrative slowness, Fenrir lowered his mouth to Harry’s neck, gently gliding his lips over the pale skin. Harry sighed contentedly, his eyes fluttering close almost against his will.  
  
“Be right back, moonlight,” Fenrir whispered in a voice that was completely incongruous in such a harmless promise and got up only to return moments later with the book about male pregnancies. He sat back down behind Harry, putting the book in Harry’s lap. “Teach me, beautiful one. I’m listening.”   
  
Harry smiled at him and Lin stalked away, her eyes glowing with anger, jealousy and hurt feelings.  
  
“This’ll be fun, you’ll see. And maybe I’ll reward you if you earn it.” Harry pressed a kiss in the palm of Fenrir’s hand.  
  
“You certainly will, white wolf, you certainly will,” Fenrir rumbled.  
  
Harry’s initial enthusiasm dimmed quickly, however, because teaching the werewolves to read and write posed more difficulties than he had expected. For one, they were all at different levels. Bryan could read and write rather well and stayed with them more out of solidarity than because he needed the aid. Maya, Tristan and Sawyer knew how to read, though only very slowly and with many pauses and a few mistakes. Chetan and Fenrir couldn’t read at all and in the case of the later weren’t motivated to make a real effort, wherein lay the second, much bigger problem.  
  
When Harry tried to teach Fenrir the alphabet, the werewolf insisted that this was completely useless and would serve for nothing and refused to listen until Harry threatened to return to the castle if he didn’t shut up and focus on the letters right now. But that didn’t mean that Fenrir submitted to Harry’s teaching methods. The first quill Harry handed him, snapped in his strong grip, and he commented, with a smug grin, that he was likely too strong and that therefore he didn’t need to be able to read. Harry disagreed and told Fenrir as much, which, however, didn’t stop the werewolf from snapping three more quills and pushing the fourth one right through the parchment.  
  
If it hadn’t been for Remus’ calm support and appeasing words, Harry would have lost his temper and would have given up. But instead he tried himself in patience and time and time again, showed Fenrir how to hold the quill and how to tip it into the inkwell. Fenrir knocked over the inkwell, spilling the black liquid over the ground, and grinned unrepentantly. Harry conjured up another, corrected Fenrir’s grip on the quill and helped him tip it into the well, holding the well secure with his other hand.  
  
“Harry, can you show me the alphabet?” Chetan asked, and Harry was grateful for the diversion, leaving Fenrir to himself as he focused on his much better student.  
  
Chetan was like a sponge, soaking up all the information Harry was giving him, practically hanging on Harry’s every word and eagerly painting letters on the piece of parchment. Over and over again, he wrote his name in bold awkward letters while reciting the alphabet under his breath. Harry smiled at him, gently correcting his letters or encouraging him to write some simple words.  
  
Suddenly he was pulled back against Fenrir, who growled in warning. “You are to teach me. Remus can help Chetan.”  
  
“Well, then stop acting like a prat,” Harry retorted in a whisper. “Don’t behave stupidly on purpose. Even you can’t be this inept.”  
  
Fenrir snarled viciously, pressing Harry into an awkward submissive position, bending him backwards over his right leg while locking Harry’s legs with his left leg. Harry’s wrists were held in Fenrir’s fist over his head like in an iron shackle. Fenrir leaned close to Harry’s face, their noses almost touching. “Don’t provoke me, little human. Just because you’re pregnant, it doesn’t mean that I’ll take your cheek without comment.”  
  
“If you don’t let me up this very moment, I’ll throw up again,” Harry hissed; he sighed in relief when Fenrir reluctantly let him up, rubbing his cramping stomach and hurting back. “Dammit, wolfie, you know I’m right. You aren’t even trying to learn, all you were trying is to annoy me. And you accomplished that.”  
  
Fenrir grunted, stroking Harry’s stomach and arms with his broad hands. “I don’t see the point. I’ve done just fine without that knowledge.”  
  
“You’ve done just fine without me as well, haven’t you?” Harry asked back. “Not all change is bad, Fen. I know you don’t think you’ll need to be able to read or write, and maybe it isn’t necessary for your life here, but it is for my life. I guess you have to decide if you want to be part of that, or not.”  
  
Fenrir huffed, pulling Harry close against his body. “Give me your attention, and I’ll try.”  
  
“You better do,” Harry grumbled.   
  
It went slightly better after that, but Harry gave himself satisfied when, after two more broken quills, Fenrir had written the alphabet once in bold, blotchy letters and on holey parchments. The others packed up soon after as well, as if following a silent command.  
  
Maya went about preparing the midday meal, and Fenrir decided to go hunting with Tristan and Chetan, leaving Harry with a dropped kiss on his forehead and a half-amused command to keep out of trouble.   
  
Harry spent some time with Remus and Sirius, laughing at the black-haired man’s antics as he not so subtly propositioned the werewolf while still trying to keep his talk clean and suitable for Harry’s ears. But Sirius was also attentive to Harry, pouring him a cup of water when Harry had another stroke of nausea and telling him stories about their pranks and years at Hogwarts to distract him. Harry appreciated that and he appreciated the effort Sirius put in saving what was left of their relationship and slowly, painfully rebuilding what had been lost. It seemed almost like old times and he was thankful for that, most of all for that ‘almost’ because he wasn’t ready to forgive and forget yet.  
  
Finally, he decided to give his godfathers some privacy and walked over to Maya, helping her to cut the vegetables until the smell of cooking meat made him feel vaguely sick. He decided to take a little walk around the clearing, finally settling against an age-old tree that even five Fenrirs couldn’t have encompassed with their arms. He enjoyed the rough bark in his back, the soft moss and the fresh air, but the world around him was askew, shaky, spinning and tilting at odd times, and when he closed his eyes, the blackness was sickening.   
  
He curled up between the roots of the tree, rubbing his belly and focusing on a small rock in front of him, until the dizziness passed. With a sigh, he sat up again, glad that Fenrir had not seen him in his moment of weakness because that would certainly prompt the werewolf to become even more protective and start another argument about the advisability of going through with this pregnancy if Harry couldn’t even bear a little dizziness. Harry snorted. Fenrir clearly had no idea that Harry could very well bear dizziness and pain and much more. He just wasn’t above complaining when it meant a few advantages for him.  
  
He stretched out his legs but closed his eyes again and drifted into a light slumber. He startled awake when he felt eyes on him. Unfriendly eyes.  
  
“Lin,” Harry greeted neutrally, hastily getting up. “Is there something I can do for you?”  
  
The female werewolf bared her teeth, her eyes narrowed into a glare. When she took a step towards Harry, Harry took a step to the side so that the tree wouldn’t hinder him if he needed to flee and grasped his wand.  
  
“Fenrir won’t be happy if you attack me,” Harry warned softly, gulping uncomfortable when Lin erupted into hissing laughter; Harry could almost agree – since when did he need to use someone else as a threat? Pathetic.   
  
“But you won’t be able to tell him, human,” Lin replied and lunged at Harry, who only just managed to perform a Shielding Charm over his stomach before the first swipe already sent him flying, crashing against a tree.  
  
He had lost his wand, and when he saw the furious werewolf, he felt something like fear. But it passed quickly because fear had long since been trained out of him. Fear paralysed, weakened. And weakness wasn’t allowed, either. Not for soldiers, weapons. Harry had learned that the hard way. He gathered his magic, the considerable force rushing through his veins like a tidal wave until he released it, shoving it against Lin so that it was her turn to fly backwards and crash against a tree.   
  
“What the hell is going on here?” someone shouted to Harry’s right, but as he tried to turn his head pain raced up his spine and neck, forcing a harsh moan from his lips. “Don’t move, Harry, I’ll be with you in a second,” the same voice said.  
  
Harry thought about disapparating, but he didn’t think he would be able to muster up enough concentration to not splinch himself. But he once again gathered his magic, readying himself for another attack because he wasn’t sure if he really wanted to take his chances with whoever had intervened.  
  
He was convinced that he hadn’t closed his eyes but when a hand landed on his shoulder he startled, making horrible pain shoot through his body.  
  
“Shh, it’s me, Maya,” a soft voice crooned in his ear, and he was carefully lifted into strong arms. “No harm will come to you now.”  
  
“I heard that before,” Harry muttered resentfully, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain that sizzled through his body despite Maya’s gentle hold. “You’ll never accept me, will you? Just stop playing games with me.”  
  
Maya continued crooning in his ear, something that Harry supposed was to make him feel better, but which only gave him a headache. He didn’t want to hear excuses, reasons, apologies, he had heard enough of them already. He felt himself deposited on a soft fur and soon after he heard the voices of his godfathers as Remus’ slender hands ran over his body, trying to find what was wrong with him.  
  
“Cub, can you tell me where it hurts?” Remus asked, smoothing his hand over Harry’s brow.  
  
“My back,” Harry whispered. “She threw me against a tree.”  
  
“We’ll deal with her later, cub,” Remus murmured while scanning Harry with his wand. “Your shield is still intact, so the baby won’t be hurt. No broken bones or severed nerves, that’s good. But your whole back is bruised, and you’re most likely under shock.”  
  
“My vision is black,” Harry said, groaning when Remus carefully turned him on his side to inspect the bruise.  
  
“That’s because all your blood rushed from your head because of the shock,” Remus explained. “Sirius, take his legs and hold them up. Maya, would you please put some snow in a towel to cool his back?”  
  
Harry was made comfortable, wrapped in a soft fur with an icepack to cool his back, and his feet put up on another rolled up fur. Maya sat down next to him with a few clothes that needed sewing, mending the tears and holes with quick stitches.  
  
“We aren’t playing games,” she started the conversation. “What Lin did was wrong and will not be condoned by the Alpha or by the rest of the pack. He warned her once; he won’t warn her again.”  
  
Harry snorted. “I never thought myself so unlikeable that you had to warn and threaten people not to hurt me.”  
  
“Lin is jealous. For the longest time she thought that the Alpha would take her as his mate,” Maya offered softly. “The Alpha did nothing to encourage her, but I’m afraid he didn’t do anything to discourage her, either.”  
  
“She could have hurt the baby,” Harry accused.   
  
“I know, Harry. And so I’m very glad I got to you in time. I know we had a rocky start, but you have to understand that none of us had positive experiences with humans and wizards,” Maya explained.   
  
“And you think that I dazzled Fenrir’s senses with sex, don’t you?” Harry mocked. “That I’m controlling him and made him overlook his common sense to not trust any wizard because I spread my legs for him, huh? Merlin, I must be an amazing fuck.”  
  
He tried to turn away from her, but the smallest movement made pain flare up his back, and so he contented himself with staring accusingly at her.  
  
“The Alpha was in that horrible place that the wizards use as prison for more than five years,” Maya replied evenly, her stitches just as regular as before. “We didn’t know how much he had changed and what had happened to make him trust you. We suspected that he latched onto you because for a long time you were the only one he had.”  
  
“And what do you think now?”  
  
“I think that you’re good for the Alpha and good for the pack and I’m happy that the Alpha found you and brought you here.” She smiled and patted his hand. “Now how about some potato and broccoli pie with melted cheese? We really need to get some more food for you... Are you sure you don’t want to try some roast venison?”  
  
“My father’s Animagus form was a stag,” Harry answered. “Maya, what happened to Lin?”  
  
“Bryan locked her in her hut,” her face darkened. “The Alpha will deal with her later. Don’t worry.”  
  
“Maya?” Harry asked again. “Can I ask you a favour?”  
  
“But of course.” She smiled. “Would you like some fish perhaps?”  
  
“No, I don’t like fish either, and the favour doesn’t concern food,” Harry replied. “Please, don’t tell Fenrir that Lin attacked me again.”  
  
Maya’s auburn eyes widened in something akin to horror at the mere suggestion, and a testy growl erupted from her throat. Harry lowered his eyes. After all it was to be expected. Maya’s features softened again, and she gracefully sat back down next to Harry, hesitantly reaching out to caress Harry’s cheek.  
  
“May I know why you’re asking this of me?”  
  
“I don’t want Fenrir to think that I can’t take care of myself,” Harry murmured. “Though, I guess he already thinks that.”  
  
“He should know what happened, Harry. Like you said, she could have hurt your baby,” Maya argued, but Harry only shook his head in denial; Maya sighed. “I won’t tell him and I will also talk with Bryan and Remus, but I won’t lie to the Alpha if he asks, and I want you to at least consider confiding in him, okay?”  
  
“Thank you, Maya.” Harry smiled at her. “And the potato and broccoli pie sounds great.”  
  
“Then rest while I get the food ready,” Maya murmured soothingly, tucking the fur once more around Harry before she got up.


	20. More

Harry spun around at Fenrir’s growl, gulping when he was faced with his murderous expression, and took an involuntary step away from the approaching werewolf. “What is that?” Fenrir demanded.  
  
He cornered Harry against a wall, grasped him by his shoulders and turned him around to inspect Harry’s purplish back.  
  
“Oh, that,” Harry said innocently. “I must have fallen.”  
  
Fenrir was not amused, rumbling warningly even as he gently traced one edge of the bruise that covered the better part of Harry’s back. When Harry couldn’t suppress a wince at the light touch, Fenrir’s eyes narrowed in anger when.  
  
“Fallen, my arse! Who was it, little human? Who of them?” Fenrir tilted Harry’s head so that he would look him in the eye.  
  
“So now suddenly you want to believe that your pack hurt me, huh?” Harry asked with a neutrality that bordered on bitterness.  
  
“Who?”  
  
Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Lin attacked me, but Maya stopped her before she could really hurt me.”  
  
“Sweet one, she already **really** hurt you, and I won’t allow that again,” Fenrir stated, drawing back. “I’ll be right back.”  
  
“Fen, no,” Harry tried to stop him. “What are you going to do? You shouting at her won’t amount to anything, and I don’t want you to fight my battles. Fen!”  
  
The silver-haired man was already at the door but turned back as Harry all but screamed his name. “I plan to do more than shouting.”  
  
With that he left, ignoring Harry’s calls and attempts at reasoning, his temper boiling and steaming and not calming any when he unlocked Lin’s hut and found her standing there with a welcoming smile on her face.  
  
But her friendly greeting died in her throat as Fenrir’s hand sent her into the wall of her hut, much as she had done earlier that day with Harry. Fenrir was past words, past reason and almost past the inborn protectiveness he felt over his pack members. Lin whimpered, cowering, faced with her Alpha’s anger, but even that did not appease Fenrir and what would usually have been a constructive little nudge turned into a furious blow, the sort of which was hard to stomach even for a werewolf.   
  
Lin made a sound of pain, her entire body language asking for mercy, but Fenrir took her by the scruff of her neck and bodily transferred her outside, dropping her in the mushy snow and leaning his face close to hers as he spoke, “You don’t get to undermine my authority and you don’t get to hurt another from the pack, no matter your personal likes or dislikes.”   
  
“Alpha- ”  
  
Fenrir roared, giving her leg a hard kick. “This is not negotiable!” he growled, “I don’t want to see you for at least one week and never again near Harry.”   
  
Before she could answer, he strode past her without a backward glance, returning to his own hut where Harry’s welcome was much colder than Lin’s had been. Harry had his colourful, scarred back turned towards the door, already lying on their furs.  
  
“I told her to keep away from you, and she’ll sleep outside for a couple of days,” Fenrir informed Harry, who snorted.  
  
“You can join her,” Harry said. “I don’t want you to touch me or come near me with blood on your hands. And I can smell that even without werewolf senses so don’t even deny it. Go.”  
  
Fenrir groaned, leaving the hut and softly closing the door behind him so that Harry wouldn’t be cold. He walked a bit to the side to where they kept some water in a barrel, noticing absently that Lin was already gone, her traces leading in a straight line out of their camp. He scooped some of the icy water into his hands, and harshly washed his hands and arms. After he was done, he sniffed himself to make sure the smell of Lin’s blood was gone and then re-entered his hut.  
  
The wooden floorboards creaked under his heavy weight, and Harry spun around, hissing in pain as he inadvertently put pressure on his back. “I told you to sleep outside. Or are you going to kick me out?”  
  
Harry’s eyes spat green fire at the werewolf as the latter approached despite Harry’s clear rejection, finally dropping to his knees next to the black-haired man, intercepting the fist that aimed at his face. “Shh, my little wizard, not so aggressive. You knew that I had to react.”  
  
“That’s why I didn’t want to tell you,” Harry groused, batting at Fenrir’s hand. “Merlin, you’re such a bullhead.”  
  
“I know.” Fenrir grinned proudly, pecking Harry’s lips. “But that’s my job, pretty white wolf. I wouldn’t have tolerated her attacking any of the others, and you deserve the same - whether you want that kind of protection or not.”  
  
“Most of all, I want a good night’s rest,” Harry muttered. “Don’t think you’ll be getting any tonight.”  
  
Harry once again turned away from Fenrir, clenching his hands in the fur to suppress any sound of pain. He felt Fenrir settle in behind him, his massive body warming him more effectively than any fur, and he relaxed slightly, turning half on his stomach to take the weight of his back.   
  
He startled, however, when a soft kiss was placed on his neck. “A.”   
  
“Hey!” Harry exclaimed, struggling against the hands that were holding him in place in front of his chest. “I said I don’t want to.”  
  
“B.” Another kiss was placed on his shoulder blade. “C.” Yet another kiss, this time to his spine. “D.” Harry groaned when a butterfly kiss was breathed on the edge of his bruise.  
  
“Fen,” Harry whispered. “Fen.”  
  
“Shh, my fiery little thing, I need to concentrate,” Fenrir rebuked him. “E. F.” Two more kisses feathered on Harry’s bruise, eliciting an exquisite sensation between barely there pain and the first tendrils of pleasure. “G.” Harry moaned, obediently following Fenrir’s hands when they tugged him into a sitting position between Fenrir’s strong legs. “H. I. J.” Fenrir whispered the letters in Harry’s ear before showering Harry’s back with the corresponding kisses. “K. L.” Harry’s hands were intertwined tightly with Fenrir’s, holding them to his furiously beating heart. “N.”  
  
“M comes first,” Harry corrected though he couldn’t care less about that.  
  
Fenrir sighed in mock-irritation. “Then I will have to start all over again, won’t I?”  
  
“Oh, yes, definitely,” Harry whispered eagerly, arching into Fenrir’s kisses even as this jostled his bruised back uncomfortably.  
  
Fenrir chuckled darkly but did as promised and started reciting the alphabet again and placing a kiss on Harry’s back, shoulders or sides for every letter he murmured in Harry’s ear. Harry had the presence of mind to interrupt him twice again, once for leaving out the Q and another time for mixing up S and T. But neither of them minded that Fenrir had to start anew after that and when Fenrir finally reached the Z, kissing the spot just above Harry’s coccygeal bone, Harry was about ready to invent new letters so that he would receive more of Fenrir’s attention.  
  
“Are we okay again, pretty human?” Fenrir grumbled, carefully turning Harry around so that they were facing each other.  
  
“I didn’t think you were listening earlier,” Harry admitted, putting his head on Fenrir’s shoulder. “You really learned the alphabet.”  
  
“You wanted me to,” Fenrir replied simply, carding his fingers through Harry’s hair. “Your back looks horrible. Can’t Remus do a little magic trick to heal it?”  
  
“He’s afraid to hurt the baby.” Harry shrugged. “I’ll be fine, it’s only a bruise.”  
  
Fenrir growled. “I would appreciate it if you held your health in higher regard, silly thing.”  
  
Harry only chuckled, gently kissing the corner of Fenrir’s mouth. “Of course, wolfie, but then what would you do?”  
  
“But you don’t want me to take care of you,” Fenrir argued in an annoyed grumble. “You want to do everything by yourself, don’t you, little human? You’re autonomous, self-dependent, you don’t need anyone!”  
  
Harry cocked his head at the aggressive tone, leaning back so that he could look into Fenrir’s eyes. “What has got into you?”  
  
“When I worry about you, you snap at me. When I try to protect you, you run away and when I want to help you, you of course know everything better,” Fenrir accused. “You don’t respect me, you don’t accept my opinion and you do everything to defy and spite me.”  
  
“You summed that up nicely, didn’t you?” Harry grinned, twirling his fingers around one of Fenrir’s nipples.  
  
The werewolf captured the audacious fingers. “And when I want to have a serious conversation, you distract me with sex. It can’t continue like this, Harry.”  
  
The black-haired man sighed, stretching his legs. “You really want to have a debate on principles now?”  
  
“It’s about time,” Fenrir stated, squeezing Harry’s hands tightly. “I want more than sex from you and I think you could give me much more, if you only wanted to.”  
  
Harry closed his eyes, freeing his hands from Fenrir’s and drew away from him, leaning against the wall, even though it hurt his back, and pulled his knees to his chest. “I don’t do things by half, Fen.”  
  
“What is that supposed to mean?” Fenrir inquired harshly, more because Harry had withdrawn but because of what he had said.   
  
“If I were to give you respect, trust or love it would be complete and absolute. I can’t do that, put myself at risk again, let myself be hurt again.” Harry didn’t look at Fenrir as he whispered the last part.  
  
Fenrir shot up, snarling and growling angrily as he began to pace the length of the hut, cursing and hitting the wall with his flat hand before turning around and stalking to the other wall.  
  
“Do you want me to leave?” Harry asked softly, receiving only a furious roar and a glare from golden eyes in reply.  
  
Fenrir hadn’t even been this enraged when he had faced Lin earlier. Now he was livid. How dare Harry to reject him so coldly? As if what they had didn’t matter at all, as if they hadn’t survived Azkaban together, as if Fenrir hadn’t protected him and given him a home, as if they hadn’t created a child! Goddess Gracious, didn’t that count for anything? And Harry hadn’t even bothered to explain his reasoning to him, had just said that it was the all-or-nothing-type of person and expected Fenrir to just nod and be happy with that answer.  
  
And then he dared to look so fucking beautiful and vulnerable, innocence in person, as if Fenrir had been the one to do something wrong, as if Fenrir was doing him a great injustice, as if it had been Fenrir who had led him on. Fenrir growled, then stopped abruptly and crouched down in front of Harry, pulling the young man into his arms.  
  
“Stubborn little thing,” he muttered, butting his nose against Harry’s chin and thumbing away the salty wetness on his cheeks. “Why can’t you give me more? It worked in Azkaban, didn’t it? You relied on me to protect you from being raped,” Fenrir demanded. “Did I disappoint you then?”  
  
“No, Fen,” Harry whispered, smiling painfully. “But then we were still on even ground. You needed me just as much as I needed you. Now you have your pack and even my Remus, you don’t need me. But what if I still needed you because you’re the only stable thing in my life and because I came to care about you? Where would that leave me? With absolutely nothing because I can’t love on pilot flame and even cautious trust is more than I can allow myself. Dumbledore waited for fifteen years until he betrayed me; Sirius... Peter Pettigrew betrayed my parents after a decade of friendship; after all those adventures Hermione, Ron and I went through, when they stood by my side and had my back, they suddenly turned on me... I want to believe in you, Fen, I really do, but in the grand scheme of things, a few bouts of protectiveness and admittedly amazing sex are nothing but amusing side notes.”  
  
“So what? I’ll have to prove myself to you how many years until you’ll finally grant me your trust? Ten? Fifteen? Or maybe twenty, just to be on the safe side?” Fenrir demanded incredulously. “I get that you’ve been hurt, moonlight, but building the walls around you higher and higher until you have your own little fortress of solitude can’t be the solution.”  
  
Harry kept silent, fixing his gaze on the floor.   
  
Fenrir sighed, running his fingers through Harry’s hair for a moment before he continued, “It’s not true what you said. Maybe I depended on you more in Azkaban, but I still need you now as much as I did then. We’re still equals.”  
  
Harry laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “Equals? Who are you trying to convince, wolfie? As much as I’m loath to admit it, I didn’t stand a chance today against Lin. Do you honestly expect me to believe that you couldn’t force me into submission if you wanted to? At least now that I actually have something to lose?”  
  
“I’m not asking for your submission here,” Fenrir stressed, feeling his temper rise again, but squashing it before it could get out of hand. “I’m asking for a relationship. Asking, not demanding. You can say no, as you just demonstrated, and I’ll be disappointed and try to convince you, but I won’t turn into a monster and use brutal force to have my way.”  
  
“But you could,” Harry pointed out. “Look, Fen, this isn’t an accusation, but do you have any idea how it feels to be... Every time, we come within touching distance, I make a conscious decision not to shy away, to believe in your good intentions just one more time, because everything in me screams that my chances at survival increase proportionally to the space between us. So you want a relationship? Good for you. Find someone else.”  
  
Fenrir wondered how much effort it took for Harry to remain pliant in his arms, especially after today. Goddess, now he felt guilty for wanting to hug his lover. His life had never been this complicated before he met Harry.  
  
“I don’t want anyone else. I want you,” Fenrir snapped, and Harry rolled his eyes.  
  
“Of course you do. But I’m not into BDSM, and I safeword isn’t enough.”  
  
“You could always use silver against me,” Fenrir offered after a pause; keeping the growl out of his voice wasn’t easy.  
  
Harry’s lips quirked up, and he motioned at his stomach. “Not anymore, wolfie. It could harm the baby.”  
  
“Dammit,” Fenrir cursed, and Harry actually laughed, pressing a soft kiss against Fenrir’s cheek.  
  
“See, that’s how I feel,” Harry answered, trailing his fingers over Fenrir’s cheek. “And I just don’t think that’s any basis for a relationship. Now, is this discussion over?”  
  
“Not quite, little one.” Fenrir smirked in triumph. “I’ll tell you my weakness, you’ll feel safe, right?”  
  
“That’s the theory, yes,” Harry sounded more than a little sceptical, but Fenrir wasn’t deterred.  
  
“I’m ticklish.” Harry’s incredulous laugh was not wholly unexpected, but a part of Fenrir still took offense to it.  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“How ticklish exactly are we talking?” Harry demanded to know.  
  
“Very ticklish,” Fenrir deadpanned, capturing Harry’s hands before they could validate his claim. “And no, you don’t get to test it out. It’s for emergencies only.”  
  
“Oh, come on.” Harry pouted. “How can I be sure if I haven’t seen it with my own eyes? Didn’t we just talk about my trust issues?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Please?” Harry tried to tug free from his restraining hands without success. “Though I guess, it doesn’t really matter if I don’t even have control over my own hands, does it?”  
  
“Fine, go ahead,” Fenrir agreed with a sigh, releasing Harry’s hands with a kiss to his knuckles, and Harry beamed at him. Fenrir knew he had been manipulated, again.  
  
Harry’s fingers were feather-light as they ghosted over his skin, from his throat, down his neck, along his sides, making it itch and prickle uncomfortably. He had to resist the urge to bat Harry’s hands away, but couldn’t quite stop himself from jerking when Harry’s fingers trailed along his ribs. Harry, apparently, had only waited for such signal and his fingers suddenly pressed firmly into his sides, needling a loud guffaw out of him. Harry grinned in triumph, repeating the process and skilfully manoeuvring around Fenrir’s defensive hands and twitching limbs until Fenrir was roaring with laughter, his stomach muscles aching and his breath coming in gasping pants. Fenrir regretted ever having started this conversation.  
  
“Enough,” he finally snapped out, managing to catch Harry’s hands and press them against his chest; he took a few deep, calming breaths.  
  
Harry was still grinning like a lunatic but didn’t try to escape Fenrir’s hold.   
  
“Feeling safer, I take it,” Fenrir grumbled, absently stroking up and down Harry’s thin arm.  
  
“It’s a start,” Harry conceded. “And very sweet of you.”  
  
“But...?”  
  
“Tickling you isn’t exactly a fool-proof plan,” Harry said softly.  
  
“I guess not,” Fenrir admitted. “But I still wish you wouldn’t let your fear stop you from caring about me as much as I care about you.”  
  
“I do care about you,” Harry replied, his eyes wide in surprise as if he couldn’t believe that Fenrir could ever doubt that. “And I didn’t say that I was afraid of you. That would be pointless.”  
  
“Then what did you just say?” Fenrir asked, his voice still soft.  
  
“That I can’t give you more, and as well worn as those lines are, that has everything to do with me and very little with you. I’m sorry if that isn’t enough, but I can only offer you friendship and sex.” Fenrir felt the slight muscles under Harry’s moonlight skin tense, saw it in Harry’s eyes that he was ready for a rejection.  
  
“For now,” Fenrir added. “I can live with that.”  
  
“Really?” Harry said.  
  
Fenrir inclined his head, allowing himself to fall back on the fur when Harry embraced him fiercely and kissed him full on the lips. The werewolf almost immediately took control of the kiss and enjoyed the slender body that moulded against him, a perfect little package of fire and compliance, of strength and weakness. His arms enclosed the smaller man securely, making sure not to squeeze too tightly so as not to cause Harry unnecessary pain. Nonetheless, Harry grimaced and gasped in pain, digging his fingers into Fenrir’s shoulders.  
  
“Let’s sleep, my moonlight beauty,” Fenrir grumbled, kissing Harry’s temple. “You’re in no state for sex.”  
  
“Aren’t I?” Harry smirked. “I think we agreed on friendship and sex and while you always have the first, it would be wrong of me to withhold the latter, especially after you’ve been so great today. Well, mostly at least.” He pecked Fenrir’s lips before sitting up over the werewolf’s stomach. “It’ll work like this.”  
  
“You don’t have to do this, my sweet one,” Fenrir stopped him. “If you believe me or not, I’m not incapable of surviving a day without sex.”  
  
Harry’s grin widened as he leaned down to whisper in Fenrir’s ear, “Oh, but I know you’re addicted to me. Don’t deny it, big bad wolf.” He nipped Fenrir’s ear. “You can hold my hips; you won’t hurt me.”  
  
“So much faith in a person you claim not to trust,” Fenrir mocked, but didn’t protest anymore instead grasping Harry’s bird-like hipbones, and nudged him up. “You said there was a trick to make it easier for you.”  
  
“No patience,” Harry tutted, but reached one hand under him, concentrated briefly and made a stroking motion only millimetres away from Fenrir’s erection, coating it with thick, gooey liquid.  
  
“Yourself,” Fenrir grunted, observing in fascination and slight suspicion as Harry scrunched up his nose and closed his eyes before giving Fenrir a slight nod.  
  
“I’m ready.” Harry stated, straining downward against Fenrir’s hold. “Come on, wolfie.”  
  
Fenrir growled, freeing one of his hands while still keeping Harry in place with the other and snaked his free hand between Harry’s thighs to check that Harry’s trick had been effective. He nodded in satisfaction, allowing Harry to escape his hold, at the same time thrusting upwards, sliding smoothly into his lover.  
  
Harry groaned softly, throwing his head back and ignoring the discomfort that emanated from his back as he began to follow Fenrir’s guiding hands, meeting the werewolf’s fast rhythm.  
  
“Only once today, Fen,” Harry murmured, running his fingers through Fenrir’s chest hair. “So make sure you get your money’s worth the first time.”  
  
“I always do,” Fenrir replied.  
  
He sped up his strokes, pushing hard and deep into the sweetness of Harry’s body, eliciting soft moans and shudders whenever he hit Harry’s prostate, but holding Harry’s hips in exactly the same position, not allowing Harry to move either with or against his thrusts. He growled warningly when Harry’s fingers inched towards his arousal, splitting Harry almost in half with his next thrust. With a small whimper and a pout, Harry let his hands land once more on Fenrir’s chest, his blunt nails leaving small bloody scratches that healed immediately. Fenrir groaned and suddenly slowed down, changing his pace to languid and almost careful strokes, and making sure to only just graze Harry’s prostate so as not to push Harry over the edge.  
  
Harry mewled piteously, pleading Fenrir with his eyes, but when the werewolf finally angled his thrust again to give Harry more pleasure, the black-haired man was once again far away from finding his release. That changed quickly, however, with Fenrir’s precise, forceful thrusts. Then Fenrir halted again, teasing them both with their orgasms just dangling out of reach, and Harry hit the werewolf’s chest in frustration.  
  
“Fen, don’t be a prat,” Harry ordered.  
  
“Oh, but you said only once,” Fenrir replied with a smirk, rotating his hips carefully. “You never said anything about the duration of that once, my little impatient one.”  
  
“Do you expect me to beg?” Harry demanded, crossing his arms over his heaving chest.  
  
“That would be an idea, yes,” Fenrir bared his teeth in amusement. “If you’re capable of that, proud little thing.”  
  
Harry glared at him before smoothing the anger from his face, pursing his lips into a seductive half-smile, looking at Fenrir through his lashes. He leaned down, licked a wet stripe from Fenrir’s navel up to the hollow of his throat, rubbed his body against the werewolf’s while purring lowly. He moved even further up, nibbling on Fenrir’s neck and finally breathed a throaty “please” into the silver-haired man’s ear.  
  
Fenrir groaned, his golden eyes dilating, his fingers digging into Harry’s hips as he began to pound in earnest into his smaller lover, not holding himself back anymore. Harry moaned in his ear, clutching to Fenrir’s shoulders as the werewolf released into him and pushed Harry over the edge, holding him through his climax.  
  
“Maybe I should do that more often,” Harry muttered, slumped against the werewolf. “If you grant my wishes so readily.”  
  
“Maybe you should,” Fenrir agreed, tracing one of the white scars on Harry’s back that could be seen clearly through the dark bruising. “I like to hear you beg.”  
  
Harry snorted softly, rolling his hips when Fenrir finally released them, making Fenrir’s member slip out of him. He curled up over Fenrir’s stomach, sighing in contentment when one of Fenrir’s hands moved to his neck.  
  
“Enough for you?” Harry asked, his eyes closed.  
  
“I’m wholly satisfied, little wizard,” Fenrir replied. “Sleep now.”  
  
But Harry wasn’t finished yet. “See, wolfie, you shouldn’t have complained earlier. What we have is great, why destroy it?”  
  
Fenrir growled testily, “Simply because I want more and it’ll be even better when you finally get over your issues.”  
  
“Poor little Alpha.” Harry laughed. “Haven’t you learned yet that you can’t always get what you want? Well, you’ll learn so soon enough, don’t worry.”  
  
With that he kissed Fenrir’s rumbling chest and bedded his ear over the werewolf’s heart, drifting off into restless sleep, while Fenrir studied the sleeping young man, thinking that he was not the one who would learn something. Harry would learn to give him more than sex and friendship. So much more.  
  
ö_ö_ö  
  
The next day, Harry woke Fenrir with a rather fiendish tickling attack, the counterattack of which, however, had him slammed into the floor within mere seconds. Harry yelped in pain, black overtaking his vision for a moment.  
  
“Shit,” Fenrir cursed, carefully picking Harry up and feathering a hand over Harry’s back to pull him against his chest. “I told you not to do that. Why’d you do that?”  
  
“I wanted to,” Harry mumbled. “Thought you might have been faking yesterday.”  
  
Fenrir sighed, pressing his lips to Harry’s temple in a fleeting kiss. “Stupid little thing. I could have hurt you. That’s not how I’ll fix your issues.”  
  
“I don’t need you to fix me,” Harry grumbled. “I’m fine. I was drunk.”  
  
Fenrir furrowed his brow. “No, you weren’t.”  
  
“Pain relief makes me say stupid things,” Harry insisted, glaring at the werewolf.  
  
“You were in plenty pain,” Fenrir argued. “That’s not how it works, little wolf.”  
  
“It should,” Harry stated. “Just forget it. I have.”  
  
“You obviously haven’t forgotten what I told you,” Fenrir replied, smirking at the guilty expression on Harry’s face.   
  
“Didn’t exactly work in my favour, now did it?” Harry groused, rubbing his side where the purple bruise crept over his ribs.  
  
“Maybe what you told me will,” Fenrir said with finality, lifting Harry up on his feet.   
  
“Since you obviously don’t want to let that go, shouldn’t you quit manhandling me?” Harry asked testily, glaring down at the werewolf.  
  
“You’d hardly want that,” Fenrir replied easily, standing up as well and snuffling Harry’s cheek. “I’m giving you opportunities to realise that you can trust me, if that also happens to benefit my desire to touch you, you can hardly blame me. Let’s have breakfast.”  
  
After breakfast, Fenrir insisted that Harry take it easy, staying with him to make sure that Harry would do exactly that. Thus, all Harry did was teach them for an hour how to read and write and afterwards read out the pregnancy book to Fenrir while the werewolves cut firewood, tanned the hunted furs, sewed, repaired tools and knives, got into snow ball fights and friendly scuffles and made sure that Harry was comfortable. Sirius, meanwhile, was mostly ignored, even though he sat right next to his godson.  
  
But Sirius was concentrated on Harry, and sometimes Remus, anyway, skipping around him in his dog form to bring a smile to Harry’s pale face and gently taking the book from Harry when his voice threatened to break instead reading the next few chapters himself. Harry smiled gratefully up at him, leaning lightly against him and into the slender fingers combing through his hair.  
  
“Will you stay here, Siri?”  
  
“Do you want me to?” the grey-eyed man asked back, waiting for Harry’s hesitant reply.  
  
“My baby will need two grandfathers,” Harry said finally, closing his eyes. “And I like the thought of having two godfathers.”  
  
“Then you will have two,” Sirius concluded. “And a whole bunch of werewolves to boot.” He shook his head lightly. “I always thought that Jamie and I were enough for Moony, but when I see him now...”  
  
“He’s seems happy, doesn’t he?” Harry murmured, with a fond smile at his brown-haired godfather. “Pack life is good for him.”  
  
“It’s good for you, too, little white one,” Fenrir said from behind them, pulling a fur around Harry’s shoulder and using his closeness to kiss Harry’s neck. “I’m good for you.”  
  
Harry laughed. “Or so you like to think, wolfie. I think it’s me who’s good for you. I make sure that you stay in shape and that your ego doesn’t get to big for your overgrown body.”  
  
“Overgrown body, huh?” Fenrir growled in mock-anger, easily picking Harry up as if he weighed no more than one of Maya’s needles and held him over his head. “Care to say that again, pretty light human?”  
  
“Care to let me down before I puke up my guts?” Harry quipped back, sighing in relief when he was set down again. “Thanks, I’d like to keep some food down for a change... And don’t squeeze me.”  
  
“I’m not squeezing you.”  
  
“I think I can judge that slightly better than you,” Harry snapped, pushing against Fenrir’s arms that had snaked around his waist, but suddenly doubled over as pain flared through his body, digging his fingers into Fenrir’s arms. “Merlin, why did I ever have to have sex with you?”  
  
“Are you in pain, little white one?” Fenrir asked in concern.  
  
“No dammit, I’m just admiring the stupid snow,” Harry hissed from his bend position. “Of course I’m in pain, and you’re not helping any.”  
  
“How do you want me to help?” Fenrir asked calmly, allowing Harry to sit down on the ground. “Just snapping at me is not going to make you feel better.”  
  
“You bet it does,” Harry muttered, grasping his ankles and rocking softly. “Just get me something to drink.”  
  
Fenrir returned quickly with a cup of water in his hand and gave it to Harry, enclosing Harry’s pale hands with his own when he saw how much the cup shook. “Your hands are icy!”  
  
“Well, it’s cold,” Harry mumbled, taking a sip of the water, then another. “And that’s the least of my problems now.”  
  
“Cub, can you describe the pain you’re feeling?” Remus asked softly. “Is it more a sharp or a dull pain? And where does it originate from?”  
  
“Sharp, I think,” Harry whispered, wishing they would all just leave him alone instead of standing around him, staring. “And my abdomen and pelvic area.”  
  
“Maybe we should return to the castle to consult that healer,” Sirius offered cautiously. “Those might be the first signs of a miscarriage.”  
  
“I had them for more than two weeks now,” Harry argued with a soft snort. “And so far I didn’t have a miscarriage so I won’t start now. I’ll be alright in a couple of minutes. Just cramps, it’s in the book. Something about my body adjusting. It’s normal.”  
  
The couple of minutes turned out to be more like ten, but then Harry felt well enough to get up and pour the rest of his water over Fenrir’s neck for suggesting that Harry should try to eat something. It was easy for Fenrir to say that. He wasn’t assaulted by nausea at the mere thought of food and the smell of Maya’s cooking.


	21. Normality

“I don’t fucking care what you want, wolfie,” Harry all but shouted, the harshness of his tone only slightly softened by the nickname. “I need a healer, I need supervision and someone who can help if necessary. I’ll be staying at the castle.”  
  
“I’ll come with you,” Fenrir insisted stubbornly. “I have myself under control.”  
  
“Oh, yes, you proved that last time, didn’t you?” Harry taunted. “Tell me, what am I supposed to do while you tear my healer to shreds?”  
  
Fenrir growled. “I won’t attack your stupid healer, I’ll be focused on you.”  
  
“And I need to focus on myself,” Harry insisted, trying to reason calmly with Fenrir since that always got the best results. “I’m not attempting to exclude you, Fen, but I’m scared and in pain and if you were to come with me I would have to worry about you, too, and I won’t have enough strength for that. Please, let me go alone.”  
  
The werewolf pinched the bridge of his nose. “So, you expect me to let you die alone?”  
  
Harry smiled painfully, putting his head on Fenrir’s chest. “I don’t plan to die just yet, but if I do, I’ll visit you as a ghost. I promise.”  
  
“I don’t find that amusing,” Fenrir admonished him.  
  
“Neither do I, but the mood is depressing enough without me adding to it,” Harry replied.  
  
“I’ll come fetch you in the morning, little one,” Fenrir said, pressing a kiss to Harry’s forehead. “You’re to be alive, am I understood?”  
  
Harry nodded, sending a wry grin up at his taller lover. “And you’re to be shaved, am I understood? I’ll rub myself raw with that beard of yours.”  
  
A brief grin flitted over the werewolf’s face before he released Harry, allowing him to take a step back and disapparate with a soft plop. A roaring howl shattered the silence of the clearing, startling the pack of werewolves, who were waiting for the full moon.  
  
ö_ö_ö  
  
David was waiting for him, as they had agreed, at the apparation point, holding out a hand to help Harry back to his feet. Harry gratefully grasped the offered hand and was pulled up, needing a second longer than normal to find his footing.  
  
“Thanks,” Harry mumbled, rubbing his stomach. “How are you doing?”  
  
“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” David said with a small grimace.  
  
“Well, you were too slow.” Harry smirked at him. “And? How’s it going with Malfoy?”  
  
“Alright, I guess.” The grey-haired man shrugged. “No incidents.”  
  
Harry snorted. “You’re always so talkative, but alright. It’s your private business, not mine.”  
  
David shifted uncomfortable. “I think I like him, and he leaves no doubt that he more than likes me. He’s so... young.”  
  
“No really?” Harry laughed. “How do you figure?”  
  
“Funny,” David replied, leading them back to Voldemort’s imposing castle. “What I meant was that he’s full of energy, more spontaneous than I’m absolutely comfortable with and not nearly as strong-willed as his father.”  
  
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” a new voice said, making both slender men swivel around to face the speaker. “Though, I hope you know that I can very well cut down on my spontaneity if it makes you feel ill at ease.”  
  
Draco stepped carefully closer to them, easily towering over them, though if Harry had shown his submissive position, Fenrir would have howled in joy. David tensed minutely, but then reached out to pull Draco to his side.  
  
“What are you doing here? I told you that I’d be with Harry,” David asked.  
  
“Yes, but you didn’t tell my why.” Draco pursed his lips into a small pout. “I came to see if I couldn’t persuade you to change your mind, or if you would mind me staying as well. What do you say, Potter, would you extend your invitation to me?”  
  
Harry exchanged a long look with David before decisively shaking his head at Draco. “You’re not invited, but if David would rather spend time with you, he’s free to do so. I’ll give you two some privacy.”  
  
“I’ll be with you before nightfall,” David replied, ignoring Draco’s protests.  
  
Harry smiled at them before turning away, taking the steps up to the healer ward where Voldemort and Healer Lestrange were already waiting for him.  
  
“No, I won’t get rid of my child,” Harry greeted them, hopping onto one of the beds. “I guess it’s normal that I feel miserable?”  
  
“Indeed.” Rudolphus nodded. “Have you been taking the Iron Supplement Potions I’ve given you to treat your anaemia?”  
  
“Did you know that they taste awful?” Harry asked morosely.  
  
“I have better things to do than to worry about your taste buds, Potter,” Snape said from behind him, and Harry almost toppled from the bed.  
  
“What is it today with people popping up without warning?” he grumbled, glaring at the Potion’s Master. “You could have at least had the decency of clearing your throat before talking to me.”  
  
“Why would I bother?” Snape asked rhetorically. “Rudolphus, I got your potions and an experimental one that might help.”  
  
“Thanks for the effort, Severus.” The healer gratefully accepted the bag of potions from the thin man, who nodded sharply and then left again; he then turned to Harry. “I should examine you again before I erect the magical bubble.”  
  
Harry lay down on the bed, pulling up his sweater. “So, Voldemort, how’s ruling the world coming along?”  
  
To his surprise, Voldemort walked the few steps to the bed and sat down on the conveniently placed chair as if he wanted to lend Harry his support. “You will be glad to hear that Diagon Alley has been opened again, and the Daily Prophet, under a new editor, has promulgated that elections will be held on March, 1. The reconstruction of Hogwarts is also progressing nicely so that I’m confident to be able to open it again this fall.”  
  
Harry winced when Rudolphus’ hands prodded his still flat stomach and hit a rather sore spot. Voldemort shifted, almost as if he wanted to take Harry’s hand, but then only stretched his long legs.  
  
“Provided that you manage to hold the peace until then,” Harry murmured.   
  
“And provided that you manage to stay alive until then,” Voldemort added. “Rudolphus, how is he doing?”  
  
“Everything considered? Surprisingly well,” the healer returned. “He’s still alive. Mr. Potter, if you’re ready I will perform a Monitoring Charm now, followed by an Ultrasound Charm so that you may see how I erect the protective bubble around your uterus.”  
  
“Alright,” Harry mumbled. “Voldemort, don’t you have somewhere else to be?”  
  
“Indeed.” The Dark Lord got up, brushing down his robes. “You might want to visit the owlery once you feel up to it again.”  
  
“Why?” Harry asked suspiciously.  
  
“My Death Eaters came upon a certain bird while in Hogwarts, and your house-elf assured me that you would be delighted to see it again,” Voldemort answered.   
  
“Hedwig? You found Hedwig?” Harry asked hopefully.  
  
“I believe that is the bird’s name, yes. A rather impressive snowy owl.” Voldemort said with a hint of scorn in his voice, so much sentimentality clearly too much for him. “Maybe that will convince you to survive.”  
  
He left, heavy black robes swishing imperiously around him and the door opening for him without him having to raise his wand. Harry rolled his eyes at the showy display, but then focused on the healer, who spoke the first incantation over Harry, motioning for the young man to lie still while he conjured up the ultrasonic screen that showed Harry’s insides. He waved his wand at the image which narrowed in on the baby.  
  
“It already looks like a baby,” Harry commented in awe, and the healer nodded, pointing out a pair of tiny hands, complete with fingers, and then traced the shape of the baby.  
  
“Most of your baby’s organs have formed by now, and even the genitals are beginning to take on their characteristics, meaning that in a few weeks we will be able to tell your baby’s gender. Also, cartilage is being replaced by real bones, and as you see here,” - he pointed at a flickering point - “your baby’s heart beat is regular and strong.”  
  
“If I were to die...” Harry took a deep breath. “Could you save my child?”  
  
“No, not yet,” the healer replied evenly. “Even with charms and potions, the baby would have to be at least past the sixth month to have a real chance of survival.”  
  
Harry sighed, but nodded. “So when should I change into my Animagus form?”  
  
“As soon as you feel the first signs that the baby is changing,” the healer told him, briefly putting his hand on Harry’s forehead.  
  
“Thanks,” Harry muttered, feeling the wave of calmness that swept through him.  
  
“You’re welcome, Mr. Potter,” Rudolphus answered. “Let’s do the Bubble Charm now, all right?”  
  
Harry nodded, trying to relax as the healer allowed his hands to hover over Harry’s shoulders and closed his eyes in concentration. The black-haired man focused intently on the screen and especially his baby that seemed to move in agitation, trying to catch the rays of magic that swirled all around it, weaving a tight net until the single strands weren’t distinguishable anymore. The bubble glowed a soft gold on the screen, changing from a perfectly round cycle to an oval and back again until it finally stabilised, settling peacefully around the foetus.  
  
“Good, Mr. Potter,” the healer stated. “I’m grateful that your magic is cooperating. I assume you have adapted to my techniques?”  
  
Harry merely shrugged. “I suppose you’re a good healer and I appreciate it that you don’t decide things over my head.”  
  
“You made it absolutely clear that you have a mind of your own,” the healer replied evenly. “And as a healer, the wishes of my patients are as important as my diagnosis... I received a letter from Professor Lupin, informing me that you had experienced severe abdominal pains and yet you did not come to see me. Neither did you meet me for the scheduled counselling appointments.”  
  
“I didn’t want you to influence me,” Harry said unrepentantly. “I will do the counselling if I survive this night.”  
  
“Very well, Mr. Potter. However, I would not have tried to influence you.” The corners of his mouth twitched slightly. “Though the Dark Lord would certainly have liked that.”  
  
“I bet he would,” Harry muttered, rubbing his stomach. “How much longer until the moon rises?”  
  
“Not long, half an hour at the most,” the older man answered with a quick look at his wrist watch. “Try to stay calm, Mr. Potter. Getting agitated will also agitate the baby and in effect increase the danger and discomfort for you.”  
  
Harry merely closed his eyes, waiting for the full moon and hoping despite himself that David would show up soon because being alone, or as good as, wasn’t helping his nervousness.  
  
The time passed somehow and finally David showed up, his cheeks slightly flushed, and sank in the chair Voldemort had vacated earlier. He grimaced apologetically at Harry, running a hand through his dishevelled hair.  
  
“Had fun?” Harry asked in amusement. “Getting comfortable are you?”  
  
“You could say that,” David agreed quietly. “How are you doing, Patronus?”  
  
“I’m glad you came,” Harry said by way of reply, closing his eyes again. “I don’t like waiting.”  
  
“I believe no one does,” David answered, only just catching a yawn with his hand. “Excuse me.”  
  
“What did you do that you’re so tired?” Harry asked curiously, stretching out on the bed. “Had a late night with Malfoy?”  
  
“Something like that,” David murmured. “I had some nightmares.”  
  
Harry sat up. “Why didn’t you tell me? I would have kept you company.”  
  
The Death Eater shrugged. “You were preoccupied with other things, with your own problems, and I don’t expect you to drop everything just to hold my hand.”  
  
Harry scowled at him. “And you think you’re not important to me? Merlin, why does everyone think I’m a cold, unemotional bastard?”  
  
“I know that you care about me,” David replied in surprise. “But that doesn’t mean that I should take advantage of you. And it’s not as if I didn’t sleep at all.”  
  
“How much did you sleep?” Harry demanded.  
  
“Enough,” David said curtly. “I really think you should focus on your own problems now, little Patronus. Afterwards, I’ll allow you to worry about me again, alright?”  
  
“Deal,” Harry murmured. “But you can sleep tonight as well. You don’t have to stay awake.”  
  
“We’ll see, if everything goes well, I might,” David replied, his body tensing when Harry groaned. “Where’s Rudolphus, Harry?”  
  
“I’m here,” the healer said, entering the private room from his office. “Mr. Potter, are you in pain?”  
  
Harry nodded. “I think the baby’s getting ready to change.”  
  
“Then you should change as well,” Rudolphus said, passing his hand slowly over Harry’s body, blurring the pain at least a little.  
  
“Fine,” Harry agreed, then took a deep breath and morphed into his Animagus form, pushing all doubts and fears to the back of his mind and wishing he could do the same with the nauseating twisting and drumming of his stomach.  
  
Harry heard a sharp intake of breath above him and then some hasty movements. He opened his eyes, yipping in question.  
  
“The protective bubble collapsed with your transformation,” Rudolphus told him. “I will have to try to build it up again, but I have to tell you that there might be unforeseeable complications since this spell was never intended to be used on animals.”  
  
“Just do it already,” David said quietly and rubbed Harry’s ears. “It’s the only chance we got anyway.”  
  
The healer complied, his hands once again resting almost on Harry’s stomach as he concentrated his magic, commanding and twisting it to fit his needs and form a second globe around Harry’s child. The second strain on his magic, so soon after the last, made sweatdrops appear on his forehead, but finally he managed to stabilise the protective energy field. His hands stayed over Harry’s stomach for a minute longer as he watched the ultrasonic screen with trepidation, fearing that the shield might fall again. But it held, even as the human child began to change into a perfect little werewolf that pushed and nudged and twisted and turned.   
  
“It’s working, isn’t it?” David asked softly, absently patting Harry’s white fur.  
  
“It seems that way,” Rudolphus agreed cautiously. “Now, if the shield holds long enough... Mr. Potter will still have extensive bruising, I would assume, but no internal bleeding, which means that he might survive this pregnancy after all.”  
  
“And will the shield hold?” David demanded to know.  
  
“Unless there’s a miracle, I doubt it,” the healer admitted. “The second bubble I created is a lot weaker than the first and even a strong bubble would have to be recast after two hours at the most.”  
  
“How often can you recast the spell?” David inquired, while Harry thought that he should have asked all that before he was stuck in his uncommunicative Animagus form.  
  
“That is not the main problem,” Rudolphus answered. “Though the short times that I need to rebuild the bubble are critical, I’m more worried because normally, these bubbles are intended to contain magical damage, not physical. I had to adapt its permeability, which might jeopardise the safe supply of air, blood and nutrients to the baby. We will have to see how well it works.”  
  
Harry’s head snapped up and he growled warningly.  
  
“Mr. Potter, I assure you your baby is not in danger.” Rudolphus pointed at the side of the screen where several green numbers were listed. “These are your baby’s heart rate, breathing rate, blood pressure and general health. As long as they are all green, your baby is perfectly fine.” He pointed at another list of numbers on the left side of the screen. “Now, those are your numbers and as you can see your general health is already yellow, falling further, the same as your other values. My guess is that your body is trying to supply your baby with everything it needs and because that fails increases the quantity.”  
  
Harry gave a wolfish shrug and fixed his eyes on his baby’s numbers again, following the small fluctuations keenly. David sighed, still stroking Harry’s back.  
  
“You’ll do something incredibly stupid and selfless, won’t you, Patronus?” he asked sadly.   
  
Harry nudged his hand, pushing his cold nose to the crook of David’s neck before rolling to the side on the bed, making room for the Death Eater. David sat down reluctantly, only spreading out when Harry sent him a green-eyed glare.  
  
“I won’t be able to sleep now, Harry,” David protested, sighing when Harry bedded his head on his chest and got comfortable, purring when David once again started to pat him.  
  
“I’ll check on you in about half an hour,” Rudolphus said. “And I will know if something goes amiss. Try not to move too much, Mr. Potter.”  
  
Harry barked in agreement, swiping his rough tongue over David’s cheek when he made to add something. David rubbed a finger over Harry’s nose and rested his hand lightly on Harry’s stomach.   
  
“I actually begin to enjoy Draco’s touch,” David offered softly. “Though, I admit it helps that he allows me to make the first step, and I guess I don’t initiate contact as often as he would like.”  
  
Harry yipped in question, and David continued, “I don’t see what he wants with me, and I fear and hope at the same time that he will grow tired of me soon. I hate how afraid I am even though he’s so considerate and I hate him for showing me my weakness. And I’m afraid that I will grow dependent on his kindness and consideration, and I certainly can’t allow that. Everything was so much easier when I still had my revenge, before you got involved in my life.”  
  
He mock-glared at the Animagus, who sent him a wolfish grin. “Yes, you can certainly be proud of yourself. But now you want to leave me alone? Don’t you think that’s unfair? To first make me dependent and then back out? I’m not healed, I’m not better, and you’ll leave me.”  
  
Harry whimpered, nudging David’s hand and then his own stomach. “I know you didn’t plan this, Harry.” David sighed. “I know I’m being selfish. I can’t expect you to decide against your child, just because of me... So, I guess, what’s left for me to do is to pray for a miracle, right? And catch a good night’s sleep while you’re still here to guard my dreams.”  
  
He grimaced humourlessly, catching Harry’s snout before the Animagus could once again give him a slobbery lick. David closed his eyes, continuing to caress Harry’s head even as he drifted off into sleep. When Rudolphus came back to check on Harry, declaring everything okay, David was already deep asleep and didn’t wake either.  
  
Harry was glad that at least one of them was able to sleep and that David’s sleep was undisturbed by nightmares, even though the older man’s words had crashed over him like a tidal wave of guilt. He didn’t want to leave David, but giving up on his child was just not feasible. And yet, he had a responsibility towards the Death Eater, had promised him to help and support him and find a way for him to get better. David was right: It wasn’t fair to leave him now. Fenrir didn’t need him and Fenrir would look after Remus, who in turn would look after Sirius. But David? _Dammit!_  
  
He was too filled with worry, resolve and something like fear to find any rest, his eyes leaving his baby’s green glowing numbers on the screen only to flicker over to David’s sleeping form. He completely ignored his own numbers. As long as his baby was fine, he would be fine, and then David would be fine.   
  
And, in any case, he wasn’t feeling too bad. His baby kicked and beat against his stomach, but the pain was dull and muted in comparison to the last full moon and though his vision blackened from time to time, he didn’t feel like he would pass out any minute. No, he was fine. He would survive this, no problem.  
  
But a particularly vicious stab of pain was too much for even Harry to ignore and since he didn’t want to wake David, who was sleeping so peacefully, and since Rudolphus was nowhere in sight, he decided to go in search of him, also because he hoped that the healer would be better company. He jumped from the bed, not quite suppressing the small whimper of pain that escaped him, and followed Rudolphus’ scent to his office and from there to a second door that lead from the office.   
  
Lifting on his hindlegs and pressing the door handle down with his paws, he opened the door, trotting into the room beyond. It was spacious and orderly, with bookshelves and framed photos lining the walls, a desk overfilled with papers and books, sketches and diagrams, a window which allowed the silver light of the full moon to fall on the white sheets of the bed, standing in the middle of the room.  
  
Harry yipped in question, not sure if he had intruded on someone’s privacy, but the person lying on the bed didn’t move or otherwise acknowledge Harry’s presence. Curiosity got the better of the white wolf, and sniffing cautiously, he approached the bed, finally putting his front paws on the bed while standing on his hindlegs to get a good look at the patient. His hair had once been brown, but now it was interspersed by grey strands, and sunken cheeks, wrinkles and furrows marred the still relatively young face.  
  
Harry nudged one of the frail-looking hands, but got no reaction, and his small whimper was left unanswered.  
  
“Mr. Potter.” Rudolphus’ voice was of forced calm. “What are you doing here?”  
  
Harry whimpered, nodding toward the man on the bed in question, but Rudolphus did not seem willing to answer instead walking in the direction of his office, demonstratively opening the door a little wider and holding it open for Harry.  
  
The white wolf shook his head decisively and jumped on the bed, careful not to land on the patient, and lay down next to him, locking his green eyes with the healer, who winced and hastened to their side.  
  
“I really must protest, Mr. Potter, this patient is in critical condition, as are you, and you being here might be detrimental for both you,” he insisted. “If you will come with me to your own room, I will gladly examine you again.”  
  
Harry shook his head again before pushing it under the patient’s arm and hand.  
  
“Mr. Potter...” Rudolphus trailed off helplessly, nervously playing with his wand. “Please, let us go back to the other room.”  
  
Harry closed his eyes, hearing and feeling how the healer sat down next to the bed after a few seconds of hesitation. Rudolphus reached out, straightening the blankets Harry had disturbed earlier and absently ran his wand over the man’s body, making sure that he was still stable. Then he also checked Harry, conjuring the ultrasonic screen once more, noting that both the baby’s and Harry’s numbers were surprisingly green.  
  
“You will not be able to blackmail me, Mr. Potter,” he finally stated, and Harry blinked up at him in surprise. “The Dark Lord already knows about my brother’s state of health.”  
  
Harry’s green eyes widened and he gently nudged the prone form next to him before looking back up at the healer.  
  
“Yes, Mr. Potter, that is my brother,” Rudolphus said softly, his voice tinted with so much love and pain that it rend Harry’s heart. “He didn’t... He has been like this ever since Azkaban.”  
  
Harry whimpered, pushing his nose against the healer’s hand which still held his wand, looking at him in question.  
  
“Of course I have tried and done everything in my power to help him,” the older Lestrange answered rigidly. “But as you can see, without success.”  
  
Harry licked his hands since that was the only way he could show his sympathy. Rudolphus barely seemed to notice, his eyes solely focused on his sleeping brother.   
  
They lapsed into silence, and Harry allowed the regular, if shallow breathing of the younger Lestrange and the forceful movements of his baby to lull him into a light slumber. He startled awake when the healer got up, returning moments later with a slender potion vial in his hand.  
  
“It’s a second dose of the experimental potion Severus made for Rabastan,” the older Lestrange explained, gently propping his brother up and dribbling the liquid into his mouth, massaging his throat to make him swallow.  
  
Rabastan’s body shuddered, arching up as if the potion was burning him from the inside, but no sound escaped his throat, and after a few seconds, he slumped back into his brother’s arms, lying prone and immobile. Rudolphus sighed, carding his slender fingers through his brother’s tufty hair. Harry yipped softly, drawing the older man’s attention.  
  
“I hardly expect it to work anymore,” Rudolphus admitted. “I went through all the spells and charms to cure mental illnesses, to wake him from his apathy, and Severus provided me with all the potions he could think of and a few more. But my brother won’t wake. The Dementors, the guards and prisoners - something was too much for him and when we were freed he just collapsed. Just when I thought everything would be over, he collapsed.” His hands clenched in helpless frustration before they took up their gentle petting again.  
  
Harry sighed, snuggling closer to the younger brother, close enough to hear his regular heart beat, to feel the gentle up and down of his chest; also close enough to hear Rudolphus’ pleading mutters.  
  
ö_ö_ö  
  
Harry woke slowly, sluggishly with the sunrise when Rudoluphus ran his wand over his body, checking his and the baby’s vitals.   
  
“Good, Mr. Potter, you’re awake,” the healer greeted him. “I think your baby is ready to change back and was only waiting for you to awake.”  
  
The white wolf whimpered, rolling to his side, nuzzling the hand Rudolphus put on his head. “Breathe, Mr. Potter, you’re doing well. Look, your baby is beginning to change.”  
  
Harry painfully turned his head, focusing his bleary eyes on the screen and the changing image of his baby. He felt drained, exhausted, but he still tried to give as much energy as possible to his baby so that this would be over soon. Rudolphus murmured in encouragement and sent his own magic to support Harry and his baby.  
  
“There now, Mr. Potter, you made it. Congratulations, you once again managed the impossible,” Rudolphus said finally, catching a once again human Harry, who threw up over the edge of the bed.   
  
“I meant your wife,” Harry mumbled, sitting up and wiping his mouth. “I didn’t know your brother was like this or I would never have asked you...”  
  
“If insanity was contagious?” Rudolphus completed the sentence for him, and Harry nodded guiltily. “It’s all right, Mr. Potter, I know that Bellatrix does not exactly collect sympathies.”  
  
“I’m sorry about your brother,” Harry said. “I’m sure he’ll come back to you as soon as he’s ready.”  
  
“I hope so,” Rudolphus replied softly, charming Harry dressed. “Would you mind moving to the other room?”  
  
Harry shook his head, getting up on unsteady legs. “I just didn’t want to be alone last night.”  
  
“I thought David was here to keep you company.”  
  
“He was rather bad company,” Harry smirked wryly, gratefully leaning on the arm the healer offered. “And I admit I was also curious.”  
  
“Understandable,” Rudolphus assured him, helping him walk the few steps into the other hospital room and then settled him comfortably on the bed. “Now, tell me, Mr. Potter, how are you feeling? I can assure you that your baby is in perfect health.”  
  
“Did you recast the bubble charm?” Harry asked. “Were there any complications?”  
  
“There was no need to recast it,” Rudolphus answered, nodding towards the screen. “It is still intact as you can see.”  
  
“But why? You said it would fade after two hours at the most. And it collapsed the last time I changed,” Harry argued. “Are you sure that my baby is okay?”  
  
“Yes, Mr. Potter, I’m one hundred percent certain,” Rudolphus replied patiently. “If you want me to, I can take the shield down now.”  
  
“Please,” Harry said, instinctively reaching for David’s hand, who woke with a start and a small whimper. “Hush, it’s only me.”  
  
“Harry?” David asked warily. “You’re still alive?”  
  
“Seems so,” Harry grinned at him. “I couldn’t leave you alone after everything you said last night. Your miracle has arrived.”  
  
“And it suspiciously looks like my little Patronus.” David hugged the younger man briefly. “Thank you, Harry.”  
  
“You’re welcome,” Harry murmured before he turned back to the healer.  
  
“Ready, Mr. Potter? David if you would move slightly away?” Rudolphus said calmly, drawing his wand.  
  
“What do you want to do?” David asked suspiciously, instinctively moving to shield Harry’s body with his own.  
  
“It’s alright, David,” Harry intervened. “I asked Healer Lestrange to take down the protective bubble since it somehow held all night through without harming my baby.”  
  
“Well, I asked for a miracle,” David offered softly, but relaxed, moving slightly away from Harry.  
  
“And I don’t trust this,” Harry muttered, tensely waiting for Rudolphus to take down the charm. He found his fears justified when the healer’s forehead furrowed, and the bubble didn’t disappear from the screen. “What is happening? Why doesn’t it work?”  
  
“Because it’s not my magic,” Rudolphus answered more to himself. “I tried to withdraw my magic from your body, but it doesn’t respond to me.”  
  
“What?” Harry demanded. “Get rid of it! I don’t care how, just get rid of it.”  
  
Rudolphus focused his wand on Harry’s stomach once again, muttering an incantation and flicking it, but nothing happened. “It’s too strong.”  
  
“You’re a fucking healer! This is your fucking job, so fucking well do it!” Harry hissed furiously. “You promised me that your charm wouldn’t hurt my child and now you can’t even reverse it!”  
  
“I assure you - ”  
  
“I don’t need your assurances, I need actions,” Harry spat. “I want you to take down that shield before it hurts my child.”  
  
“Mr. Potter,” Rudolphus started again, raising his hand to put it on Harry’s forehead, but Harry glowered at him, snapping out his own wand.  
  
“Harry, stay calm,” David intervened. “Rudolphus wouldn’t go against his Healer’s Oath and your baby seems to be perfectly fine to me. Hyperventilating won’t help, I’d know.”  
  
“He’s hurting my child,” Harry whispered, wrapping his arms protectively around his middle.  
  
“No, he isn’t. No one is hurting your child, Harry,” David murmured soothingly. “Rudolphus, maybe you should explain to Harry what happened.”  
  
The healer nodded. “The bubble is not malignant, Mr. Potter, in fact quite the opposite. It replaced the first bubble I put up last evening which must have faded during the night. This new bubble was created by your magic.”  
  
“How?” Harry asked suspiciously, unfolding slightly from his protective position.  
  
“You remember how I commented that your magic was cooperating with mine?” Rudolphus asked. “I would assume that your magic, once it had a direction, worked to support and finally replace mine, manipulating and changing the force field so as to better protect your child. It is completely harmless, Mr. Potter, even beneficial, but if you feel uncomfortable with it, I can guide you, and we can get rid of it together.”  
  
Harry twisted his hands nervously, rubbing his stomach pensively. He focused intently on the screen, reaching inside of him, feeling for his magic, strong despite Harry’s exhaustion and still centred in his belly. When he found it, he tugged forcefully and the bubble wavered, but then settled again, peacefully circling around his baby. He gave another experimental tug and the shield moved again, though without touching the baby.  
  
Harry released a breath. “So it’s safe? You promise?”  
  
“Yes, I promise, Mr. Potter,” Rudolphus said softly, indicating the screen once more. “Your baby is healthy and strong and the shield is protecting you without cutting off the baby completely. It is more permeable than the one I cast but strong enough to protect your insides against the brutality of your baby’s movements.”  
  
Harry glared at him for his word choice, but made a conscious effort to calm down and think rationally. His baby looked fine, and the numbers also pointed in that direction. And it was his magic, wrapped around the baby, and he wouldn’t harm his baby, would he?   
  
“In all honesty, Mr. Potter, I doubt you or your baby would have survived the night without that shield,” Rudolphus offered.   
  
“Great,” Harry muttered sarcastically, leaning lightly against David. “I still don’t trust this.”  
  
“Shall I show you how to dismantle the bubble?” the healer offered. “Though, if you don’t mind, I would like to first treat your injuries.”  
  
“How badly is Harry injured?” David asked.  
  
Rudolphus sent Harry a quick look, waiting for his consent before he answered. “You have some internal bruising, especially on your small intestines and the walls of your womb. You’re also slightly dehydrated and anaemic, but I will be able to cure that easily.”  
  
Harry sighed, spread out on the bed and bared his middle to the healer’s touch. “Are you sure the baby’s okay?”  
  
“Yes, Mr. Potter,” Rudolphus replied patiently, gliding his hands over the young man’s stomach; Harry sighed under the gentle touch. “Maybe you would like a Calming Draught?”  
  
“No,” Harry said harshly, crossing his arms and sitting up. “I’ll worry as much as I want!”  
  
“Of course, Mr. Potter,” Rudolphus answered calmly. “I have no wish to drug you into acceptance, but raised adrenalin or stress levels can harm your child.”  
  
Harry’s eyes widened in a new fear, but the healer was quick to reassure Harry, that the child would be very well able to handle a little stress, but that Harry should try to not let it get out of hand. The black-haired man closed his eyes, breathing deeply a few times, before flopping back down on the bed with an annoyed moan.  
  
“Can we just put this little episode down to mood swings?” he asked hopefully, peering at them through one eye.   
  
“It looked like one to me,” David offered readily, with a small grimace at the younger man. “And you’re entitled to be a lot worse.”  
  
Harry snorted. “Famous last words.”  
  
“Well, I think Greyback will be the one to take the brunt of your moodiness,” David replied wryly. “I guess he’ll show up soon?”  
  
“Damn right, wizard, get away from my little one,” Fenrir growled from the door, crossing the room and sitting down on the bed David had just vacated. “You’re still alive, sweet one?”  
  
“That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?” Harry demanded, smiling at Remus, Sirius and to his surprise Chetan, who had entered the room after the Alpha.  
  
“Of course, I just didn’t expect you to heed my command this time,” Fenrir murmured, kissing Harry’s forehead. “How did you do this?”  
  
“I couldn’t be normal, at least once,” Harry muttered morosely and the silver-haired werewolf growled.  
  
“You wanted to die, or what?” he accused.  
  
Harry’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “I just had a very disagreeable night, found out that I’m once again something **special** and passed the time by thinking of ways to castrate you, so I wouldn’t annoy me.”  
  
Fenrir sighed, running his hand through his hair. “I shaved.”  
  
Harry’s mood brightened immediately, and he caressed the werewolf’s now smooth cheek with his finger pads. “Yes, I can see that, wolfie.”  
  
“Well, do I get a kiss?” Fenrir asked, but didn’t wait for an answer, claiming Harry’s lips in a demanding kiss while stroking Harry’s stomach and sides.


	22. Impartiality

Suddenly Fenrir drew back from the kiss, growling deeply. “Travers, Lestrange, those I can understand, but there’s another scent on you. Why? Who is it? Who?”  
  
Harry stared incredulously up at him. “Excuse me?! I have no fucking mind for your jealousy right now and if you want to start like this, you can get lost.”  
  
Fenrir’s eyes yellowed in obvious anger, and he tightened his hold on Harry. “Who was it, stupid thing?”  
  
“It’s not any of your damned business,” Harry snapped testily, pushing his arms under Fenrir’s to take the pressure off of his stomach. “Get a grip on yourself or buzz off.”  
  
“Fine,” Fenrir retorted, getting up, but instead of leaving, he sniffed deeply and walked quickly towards Rudolphus’ office, pushing it open; moments later another door banged open.  
  
Rudolphus hastened after Fenrir, but before he had even reached his office, Fenrir returned, blocking the door. The werewolf casually leant against the door frame. “Your brother, Lestrange?”  
  
“Yes, let me through,” the healer replied, not quite as politely as was his habit.  
  
“Didn’t touch him.” Fenrir shrugged, but stepped aside. “Miserable human.”  
  
“He was too young for Azkaban,” Rudolphus defended his brother. “He just couldn’t handle the Dementors and attempted rapes anymore.”  
  
Fenrir snorted. “If you say so.”  
  
“What do you mean?” Rudolphus demanded, firmly closing the door to his brother’s room. “Do you know something?”  
  
“I just find it amusing that you blame the Dementors and other prisoners for your brother’s state even though he seemed perfectly fine until your escape,” Fenrir stated with the utmost disinterest.  
  
“It’s a shock reaction to the drastic change of circumstances,” Rudolphus explained though he didn’t seem entirely convinced.  
  
“Ah, of course, and tell me, wizard, have your little magic tricks based on that assumption helped so far?” the werewolf mocked, walking over to Harry and taking him in his arms again despite Harry’s protests.  
  
“Fen, if you know something that might help, tell him,” Harry ordered, pushing his pillow into Fenrir’s stomach before bedding his head on it. “Otherwise shut up, you’re giving me a headache.”  
  
“And let me guess, I’m also annoying you,” Fenrir answered with a sigh. “And since you’re pregnant, I’m supposed to be all considerate even if you’re annoying me just as much.”  
  
“No one’s forcing you to be here,” Harry muttered, burying his face in the pillow.   
  
“Silly little wolf, you know I wouldn’t leave you alone,” Fenrir murmured, running his strong fingers through Harry’s hair and earning himself a sleepy smile. “Lestrange, what I meant is that I saw and heard you escape. Your brother was at the end of the line, then someone babbled something, and only then did your brother ‘go into shock’.”  
  
“You mean he was cursed?” Rudolphus asked. “Did you hear the words?”  
  
“I don’t care about magic tricks, wizard.” Fenrir sneered and Rudolphus sighed in disappointment. “It was a female voice, though.” Fenrir grinned viciously. “The voice of the very female who oh-so-generously helped you to carry your brother to safety.” He barked out laughing. “Human helpfulness, huh?”  
  
“Wolfie, stop,” Harry told him sternly. “This is not funny.”  
  
“It sure is.” Fenrir smirked. “Oh, how the haughty fall. That’s the kind of loyalty you can expect from wizards, my little moonlight.”  
  
“So, I guess that’s also the kind of loyalty you can expect from me, is it?” Harry retorted testily and turned towards Rudolphus. “Healer Lestrange, maybe Voldemort can help you to get some answers from what I suspect was your wife.”  
  
Rudolphus looked rather helpless; hope, anger and resignation warring on his face, but at Harry’s suggestion, he nodded, quickly leaving the room.  
  
Fenrir growled. “What kind of healer is he? What if you needed him?”  
  
“Your own fault,” Harry muttered. “And I’m fine.”  
  
“Right, and you won’t tell my why,” Fenrir complained in a grumble, harshly tugging on Harry’s hair. “Stupid little wolf.”  
  
“My magic,” Harry replied curtly. “The very thing you hate so much.”  
  
“I could never hate you,” he whispered in Harry’s ear. “Now don’t be angry with me anymore, I’m very, very happy that your magic saved you.”  
  
Harry grumbled when he was lifted up from his comfortable position buried in his pillow and was sat down on Fenrir’s lap. “Changed your mind again, have you?”  
  
“Only if that doesn’t put you at risk,” Fenrir clarified. “Can you do that again, use your magic to protect yourself?”  
  
Harry shrugged. “Nothing that says that I can’t. The shield my magic created is still in place.” He pointed at the screen. “Have you even looked at our child, yet?”  
  
“I’ll look now, little white one,” Fenrir murmured soothingly, putting his chin on Harry’s head. “Looks good to me.”  
  
“I’m glad you approve,” Harry said sarcastically, but relaxed against the werewolf. “So you don’t want me to abort anymore?”  
  
“Would you listen to me if I was against keeping the baby?” Fenrir asked.  
  
“Of course not.” Harry grinned at him. “But I thought I’d ask, anyway. So?”  
  
Fenrir grunted, nipping Harry’s neck. “No, you don’t have to abort, my sweet human. But the baby better not hurt you.”  
  
Harry chuckled, smiling at Remus, who approached them and hugged him gently. “I was worried sick about you, cub.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Harry mumbled, squeezing back and feeling the wiry muscles of his godfather’s back. “You know I didn’t mean to.”  
  
“I know,” Remus replied with a wry smile. “But you know that one of these days you’ll give my poor old heart such a scare that it’ll forget beating.”  
  
“Using threats now, are you?” Harry answered, grasping Remus’ hand. “Don’t you dare!”  
  
“I won’t if you won’t,” Remus stated simply. “Now don’t argue, cub, you need your strength.”  
  
“Say something!” Harry turned to Fenrir with a glare. “He’s putting pressure on me.”  
  
“Why would I?” Fenrir asked. “At least you listen to him. I could give you the same exact advice and you would do exactly the opposite.”  
  
“David, you’re on my side, aren’t you?” Harry turned pleadingly to the Death Eater.  
  
“In this case, I tend to agree with Lupin. I’d rather you stopped scaring me,” David replied softly.  
  
Harry glared at him. “A bit of support would have been nice, you know?”  
  
“Support for what, silly thing?” Fenrir demanded. “None of us wants to see you die. Now stop trying to pick a fight. You’re outnumbered.” He grinned, pressing a kiss to Harry’s temple.  
  
Harry pouted, crossing his arms over his chest. “Fine. Fen, I’m hungry.”  
  
“Maya’s most likely already cooking for you,” the Alpha replied. “But if you’re very hungry, call that house-elf of yours.”  
  
“Really?” Harry smiled happily. “I think I’ll wait then.”  
  
“What are we waiting for anyway?” Fenrir asked impatiently. “Don’t tell me that irresponsible wizard.”  
  
“Okay, I won’t tell you,” Harry answered with a yawn. “Siri, could you hand me some water, please?”  
  
“Sure, cub,” Sirius said easily, and Fenrir growled.  
  
“So he’s allowed to call you ‘cub’ now, too, is he?” the werewolf demanded angrily, his earlier resolution forgotten. “I’d sure like to have your principles.”  
  
“What crawled up your butt and died there?” Harry asked back, really irritated that his pleasant drowsiness had once again been disturbed. “It’s just a word. Merlin, for someone who can’t even read you’re certainly fixated on language.”  
  
Fenrir bared his teeth, glaring at Harry, who glared right back even though he already regretted his harsh retort. “Am I not educated enough for you, human? Of course I’m only a stupid werewolf.”  
  
“If you expect me to protest that statement, you can wait for a long time because you’re certainly acting like one,” Harry replied. _Merlin, just shut up!_ He didn’t want to fight, not really. He just wanted to lay here in Fenrir’s arms and try to process that he was still alive and that, for the first time, both his baby and he had a reasonable chance of survival. He didn’t understand why Fenrir chose today of all days to be spiteful and belligerent. But he realised that his own attitude wasn’t really helping matters.  
  
“Guys.” Sirius raised his hands placatingly. “If it’s that big an issue, I won’t call Harry ‘cub’ anymore. It’s not important.” Harry’s stomach plummeted.  
  
“You better don’t, human!” Fenrir ordered, at that same time as Harry said, “Of course, you can call me ‘cub’.”  
  
“Uh, why don’t we give you two some privacy?” Sirius suggested, looking appealing at Remus, who nodded readily and grabbed Chetan’s arm.  
  
David got up from his chair, and the four men left the ill-assorted couple to sort out their differences. Harry sighed, glancing briefly at the muscular werewolf before morosely plucking on the hem of his hospital pyjamas.  
  
“Don’t have anything to say anymore?” Fenrir taunted.  
  
“What do you want me to say?” Harry asked softly. “I already explained why I don’t want you to call me ‘cub’. You seemingly didn’t listen so just call me that. I don’t care anymore.”  
  
“Where did your fire go?” Fenrir asked in surprise, butting his nose against Harry’s cheek. “Just moments earlier you were ready to tangle with me.”  
  
“I’m not in the mood,” Harry murmured, lowering his head. “You can be happy, you got your way.”  
  
“But I’m not happy,” Fenrir grumbled softly. “I overstepped some bounds, didn’t I? I hurt you when I only meant to push you a little. Talk to me, beautiful wolf.”  
  
Harry closed his eyes, hunching his shoulders. “Sirius always called me that. He gave me the feeling that I was loved, that he would always be there for me. Now he doesn’t even care anymore.”  
  
“What makes you think that? Just because he didn’t want us to fight? That’s stupid, Harry.”  
  
“Don’t act like you give a damn,” Harry said, but without much anger. “We both know that you can’t stand him. You’d be only too happy if he disappeared from my life.”  
  
“And make you sad? You know me better than that, little white one. Did you think I wanted to question his feelings for you?” Fenrir inquired. “That I wanted to remind you of his betrayal just because I was jealous about his privilege to call you his ‘cub’?”  
  
“Something like that.” Harry shrugged. “It’s not important.”  
  
“I don’t think so, and since you aren’t in the mood for arguing, my opinion is the one that counts.” Fenrir smirked, pressing a long kiss to Harry’s temple. “That mutt may call you ‘cub’, but then I reserve the right to call the baby ‘cub’, deal?”  
  
Harry smiled slowly at the werewolf and nodded. “But we’re going to give the baby a proper name as well, aren’t we?”  
  
Fenrir grunted, but his eyes were smiling. “Only if you insist on it.”  
  
“Then I insist.” Harry grinned, pecking Fenrir’s lips. “Thank you, my Alpha.”  
  
“Do you know what you do to me by calling me that?” Fenrir groaned.  
  
“Yes, exactly.” Harry chuckled, brushing his hand, as if by accident, over Fenrir’s groin. “That’s why I do it, my Alpha.”  
  
“Naughty little human,” Fenrir grumbled, licking Harry’s throat before starting to suck forcefully on the slender column of his neck, drawing a moan from the younger man. “So that everyone sees that you’re mine,” Fenrir stated finally, inspecting the dark red bruise on Harry’s white skin in satisfaction.  
  
“I’m sure you cleared up all remaining doubts,” Harry teased, stretching languidly before gliding his hands absently over Fenrir’s hard pectoral muscles. “Thanks, Fen, and I don’t think that you’re stupid, just obstinate.”  
  
“I would hope so. I didn’t write this stupid letter,” - He reached into the pocket of his jeans, extracting a folded and crumpled piece of paper. - “just so you could laugh about me.”   
  
Harry blinked up at him, then stared at the letter. “You wrote me a letter?”  
  
“It was Remus’ idea of distracting me,” Fenrir grumbled. “I wasn’t very pleasant to be around after you left.”  
  
“Well, may I read it?” Harry asked, taking the letter from Fenrir and unfolding it.  
  
The letters were uneven, at times almost illegible, and ink splotches and holes also decorated the parchment, but though the message was short and not without mistakes, Harry knew that it had been written with care.  
  
 _litle 1,  
i’ll thing off you and i’ll be with you in the moning.  
take care, my swet 1,  
Fenrir Greyback_  
  
“Sweet,” Harry commented, pecking Fenrir’s lips before folding the letter and carefully putting it away. “You’re getting much better.”  
  
“I know,” Fenrir replied smugly, tracing the hickey he had left on Harry’s throat. “I have a capable teacher.”  
  
“Remus is great, isn’t he?” Harry murmured, and Fenrir wasn’t quite sure if the younger man was pulling his leg or not. “Can I bring my owl when we go back?”  
  
“I didn’t know you had an owl,” Fenrir rumbled.  
  
“They found her. I thought she was dead,” Harry answered softly. “I want to have her with me.”  
  
“Then you’ll have her,” Fenrir replied simply, taking a deep sniff of Harry’s hair. “I’ll tell them to come back in, shall I? So that eventually we can get going.”  
  
“Mhm, don’t want to move,” Harry mumbled, snuggling into the werewolf. “You’re comfortable.”  
  
“Lazy little thing,” Fenrir said fondly, simply taking Harry with him as he got up. “Don’t complain now about me manhandling you.”  
  
He walked the few steps to the door, shifting Harry’s weight to one arm to open the door with the other, and motioned the others back in before returning to the bed.  
  
“Thanks for giving us a bit of space.” Harry peered up at his godfathers. “You can call me ‘cub’.”  
  
“And?” Fenrir prompted, nipping Harry’s ear.  
  
“And Fenrir will call the baby ‘cub’.” Harry sighed. “There, happy now, big bad wolf?”  
  
“Almost, you forgot to say that I’ll be the only one to call the baby ‘cub’,” Fenrir continued undisturbed, stroking Harry’s abdomen. “My little stubborn one and my cub.”  
  
“Possessive brat,” Harry muttered under his breath, knowing very well that Fenrir could hear him, ducking away with an undignified squeak when Fenrir blew warm breath directly in his ear.  
  
Fenrir smirked. “There now, my sweet one, we don’t want to get cheeky again, do we?”  
  
Harry grumbled, cautiously sitting up again and leaning comfortably against the werewolf, who aligned their arms and legs and kissed Harry’s cheek.  
  
An angry screech from outside the room interrupted the peaceful silence and David turned with a quiet curse, opening the door and reaching out to retrieve a cage with a beautiful white owl in it. “I got her from the owlery while you were having your discussion,” he explained, setting the protesting owl down on the bed.  
  
“Hedwig,” Harry breathed, opening the cage and stretching out his hand to the bird. “Hey girl, do you still know me?”  
  
Hedwig flapped her wings with an annoyed screech, then nipped Harry’s finger in a gesture of affection and forgiveness and hopped on his arm, trippling out of the cage. Harry patted her head, stroking the beautiful white feathers of his oldest friend. The owl clicked her beak, hooting happily as she got comfortable, even as her human friend was fighting a losing battle against his tears.   
  
“Hey, white wolf, what is it now?” Fenrir asked, alarmed. “Are you in pain? Dammit, where is that stupid healer?”  
  
“I’m not in pain,” Harry whispered, quickly brushing away his tears. “At least not that kind of pain.”  
  
“Oh,” Fenrir said helplessly. “Aren’t you happy to have your pet back?”  
  
“Of course. I thought I’d never see her again. I thought they had...” He broke off, breathing harshly.  
  
“I took care of her for a while,” Remus said gently. “And when I left the Order and Grimmauld Place, I asked Hagrid to look after her.”  
  
“What happened to him?” Harry asked softly, not sure if he really wanted to know the answer.  
  
“He was killed in the last battle,” Voldemort answered from the door, Rudolphus at his side. “Put up quite a fight.”  
  
“Please, keep your comments to yourself.” Harry closed his eyes, harder hit by the new information than he would have thought possible.  
  
Hedwig screeched imperiously, spreading her wings and hopping on Harry’s knee, glaring and thrusting her beak threateningly at the Dark Lord. Fenrir also growled at Voldemort, moving from behind Harry to sit next to him so that he would be able to shield him quickly in case of an attack.  
  
“I’m glad to see you still alive,” Voldemort said simply. “Rudolphus told me about how the boy-who-lived came to live again. Is magic not a wondrous thing, Harry Potter?”  
  
Harry snorted softly. “I bet that irks you, doesn’t it? That I seem to achieve so easily what you still strive for.”  
  
“I admit it does, on a certain level,” Voldemort replied graciously. “But while I would have preferred getting rid of this inconvenience, this is the second best outcome.”  
  
Fenrir snarled viciously while Harry only glared and put his hand protectively over his stomach. To his surprise, Remus and Chetan also moved in front of them, the later growling deeply and warningly.  
  
“Greyback, do try to keep your lapdogs in check,” Voldemort said and took a step towards the bed, despite three angry growls.   
  
He looked from Fenrir to Harry and finally to the ultrasonic screen, his red eyes taking in the new life in almost innocent wonder. /Life,/ he hissed, and Harry relaxed.  
  
/Yes,/ he replied, motioning the Dark Lord closer. /Do you understand it?/  
  
/No, but I will,/ Voldemort declared. /Just as one day I will understand you./  
  
Harry laughed. /Tell me what you find out, will you? Because I find it hard to figure myself out at times./  
  
/I will, Harry Potter,/ Voldemort inclined his head before looking back at the screen.   
  
“What are you two talking about?” Fenrir demanded harshly, jostling Harry and Hedwig as he pulled Harry more firmly against his chest.  
  
“The weather,” Voldemort replied without batting an eye. “Spring is approaching; I think the ice is beginning to melt.”  
  
Fenrir roared, and Harry winced, putting his hands protectively over his ears. “Dammit, don’t do that, I’m going to lose my hearing because of you.”  
  
“You’re going to lose a lot more if you don’t answer me,” Fenrir growled, and Harry stared incredulously at him.  
  
“You better not be threatening me, wolfie,” he said very quietly.  
  
“And what if I were?” Fenrir taunted. “What would you do then, little human? What could you possibly do to me?”  
  
Harry snapped up his hands, but before he could do anything more, gentle but decisive arms closed around him, pulling him away from Fenrir and against another strong chest. “Don’t cub, it’s not good for your baby if you lose your temper,” Remus murmured in his ear, holding him secure and folding Harry’s hands to rest on his stomach. “Shh, it’s okay.”  
  
“It’s not okay!” Harry hissed, magic crackling around his body like lightning as his hands twitched and flexed, and he strained against his godfather.  
  
“But losing your temper won’t help, cub,” Remus insisted. “Think of your child. Did you just risk everything to now destroy it in a moment of anger? Calm, Harry, please.”  
  
Harry didn’t look like he wanted to heed his godfather’s plea, still solely focused on Fenrir, piercing him with his glare. What once had been a warming campfire in his eyes, had turned into a firestorm, and Fenrir realised that he had definitely gone too far even before Harry began to speak in a deadly calm voice.  
  
“I’m not weak, I’m not dependent and I’m **not** your plaything, Fenrir. I’ve had enough of your prejudices. It’s not your pack, it’s you, and so far I have ignored your insults and accusations, have laughed them away and pretended that I don’t mind. But it’s no laughing matter anymore; you’ve got to finally get over this because otherwise my child will not grow up around you. My child will not learn to look down on me.”  
  
“You should have just told me what you were talking about,” Fenrir grumbled.  
  
“What do you think we talked about?” Harry demanded. “Maybe we made plans how to get rid of you, huh? Or we were laughing at your expense? It must have been something bad because I’m a low, disloyal human.”  
  
“That’s not what I meant at all, you know that,” Fenrir protested.  
  
“Right now, I’m tired of interpreting and looking for good intentions, Fenrir,” Harry replied evenly. “Go.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Go. Go back to your home, calm down, think about what I said and consider carefully if you’re willing to live with a human, a wizard. I’ll send Hedwig in a couple of days and if you want me back, you can give her a message.”  
  
“I’m not going to leave!” Fenrir growled, taking a step towards Harry.  
  
“Voldemort, if you would please have Fenrir escorted out?” Harry asked the Dark Lord, who reacted swiftly and summoned several Death Eaters, who circled around Fenrir with drawn wands.  
  
“I believe it would be best to fulfil Harry’s wish, Greyback,” Voldemort stated, and Fenrir roared in anger, crouched low, ready for a fight.  
  
“Mr. Greyback, you are upsetting Mr. Potter,” Rudolphus spoke up insistently. “And Mr. Potter is in no condition to be upset. For my patient’s sake, I must ask you to leave now.”  
  
Fenrir growled again, his eyes locked onto Harry’s, waiting for a sign, for some kind of emotion to rise in the green depths, but Harry had shut down, unreadable, untouchable, unapproachable, everything kept under tight wraps. For the first time, he noted the dark circles under Harry’s eyes and his pasty complexion. Goddess, he just should have kissed Harry until he shut up, until his undivided attention was once again on him, as it should be.  
  
Fenrir deflated, his hands clenching in directionless anger as he straightened up, with a few quick steps he broke through the circle of Death Eaters and to Harry. He pressed a chaste kiss to Harry’s unresponsive lips before drawing back. _Too late._  
  
“I wouldn’t threaten you, Harry,” he murmured.  
  
“Go, Fenrir,” Harry repeated, turning away from him. “Just go.”  
  
Fenrir sighed, lifting his hand to reach out to Harry, but then dropped it again. He growled as yet another curse hit him, but instead of retaliating he left without a further word.  
  
“Harry,” Chetan said softly. “Please, send that owl, please?”  
  
“I will,” Harry replied. “I keep my word.”  
  
“And look after yourself and the baby?” Chetan continued, looking pleadingly at the younger man.  
  
“Yes,” Harry answered with a small nod, surprised when the werewolf pulled him into a careful embrace.  
  
“I don’t really understand what just happened. Fenrir always treated you well - doesn’t he have a right to know what’s going on? And you fight all the time and mostly it’s you who starts it. Then you make up again. I thought that was just how it worked, so why is this time different?”  
  
“He threatened me,” Harry pressed out. “That’s why it’s different. And Fenrir knows that I’m only teasing him, but the problem is that he believes all that shit he’s spouting about wizards and humans and everyone non-werewolf. You’re living proof of that.”  
  
Chetan furrowed his brow as if in deep thought but then shook his head. “I still don’t understand, but I know that I want you to come back, Harry. As does the Alpha.”   
  
“I think I want to come back as well,” Harry admitted in a whisper, his shoulders slumped in defeat.  
  
Chetan nudged Harry’s chin with his nose. “I’m glad to hear that... Remus, are you coming?”  
  
The brown-haired werewolf hesitated, touching Harry’s arm in question. “It’s okay, Remy, go with them. I’ll be fine here. Really.”  
  
“I’ll stay here with Harry,” Sirius offered. “If that’s okay with you, cub?”  
  
Harry nodded, hugging Remus briefly before pushing him away. Chetan grumbled lowly, putting his hand on the thinner werewolf’s shoulder to steer him out.  
  
“You’re no longer needed,” Voldemort told his Death Eaters dismissively, giving them all of three seconds before he sent two Cruciatus Curses at the Death Eaters who had lagged behind.  
  
He then moved to Harry’s side and to the surprise of everyone helped him to the bed. “Your magic is getting out of control, and I cannot balance it out for much longer without drawing it away from you.”  
  
“What?” Harry demanded. “You’re not controlling my magic.”  
  
Voldemort arched one eyebrow. “I’m quite certain that you are not, Harry Potter. And I’m not controlling it; I’m counterbalancing your sudden ups and downs with my own magic since I do not wish to deal with your wailing should you lose the baby.”  
  
Harry glared at him. “I’m not going to lose my child.” But he drew his knees to his chest and tried to take deep breaths, slowly pulling his magic back into his core and locking it inside.  
  
“Very good, Potter.” Voldemort nodded approvingly. “Rudolphus, after you checked him, you may interrogate Bellatrix.”  
  
“Yes, my Lord,” Rudolphus replied dutifully, approaching Harry and examining him with the usual gentle efficiency.  
  
“Why haven’t you done that yet?” Harry demanded. “I thought you had already done that.”  
  
“My Lord was so kind to remind me that you are in more immediate need of my attention,” Rudolphus replied, carefully rearranging Harry on his side. “Try to lie like this for a while to ensure optimal blood flow and nutrient supply to your placenta, but feel free to move if you should get uncomfortable. Try to sleep, don’t overthink what just happened.”  
  
Harry nodded obediently. “Healer Lestrange, I’m fine and I won’t die of deception if you leave now to find a way to help your brother.”  
  
Rudolphus spoke a Monitoring Spell over Harry before he withdrew from his side. “If there should be any sudden sharp or permanent pain, alert me immediately.” But he wasn’t speaking to Harry, but to Sirius and David.  
  
“I will,” David murmured, once again sitting back on the bed next to Harry.   
  
“I’m glad you two understand each other,” Harry muttered sarcastically. “Voldemort, stop hovering, will you? You’re making me nervous.”  
  
“Ah, so I finally achieved that, did I?” Voldemort smirked superiorly. “Rudolphus, let us go.”  
  
After the two men had left, Sirius also approached the bed, though he kept well away from David. They both seemed happy with this arrangement, and Harry was just grateful to be finally surrounded by silence. He hadn’t wanted to fight.


	23. Understanding

Rudolphus’ and Voldemort’s interrogation did not amount to anything. Harry didn’t have all the details - and had made a point not to ask for the specifics - but it seemed, Bellatrix was immune to their torture, and her mind was so disordered and sick that it was impossible to use Leglimency to get the necessary information. Now, Rudolphus was researching, poring over thick and old tomes, looking for curses that might be the reason for his brother’s state. The shadows under his eyes became darker and darker, his forehead almost constantly furrowed and his usual calm interrupted by bouts of depression and anger. But he didn’t find anything.  
  
Harry wished he could help him, but the healer’s tenseness also passed onto him and made him nervous and jumpy so that he decided, for his baby’s sake and his own, to keep his distance. Also because he wasn’t sure how to help.  
  
He spent most of his days with Sirius and David, helping them and drawing comfort from their presence.  
  
“When are you going to send Hedwig?” Sirius asked softly, while chopping some peppers for the noodle sauce he was making. “It’s been three days now.”  
  
Harry shrugged. “I know. I’ll send her tomorrow.”  
  
“Why don’t you send her now while I finish cooking?” Sirius suggested mildly. “I’m sure they’re already waiting impatiently for your message.”  
  
“Maybe,” Harry said vaguely. “But if I leave you to cook on your own, the kitchen will be in shambles when I return.”  
  
Sirius mock-glared at him. “I’ll have you know that I’m a great cook. Remus is the one who blows up kitchens.”  
  
“Uhu, of course,” Harry mumbled. “I think I’ll just hang around to make sure.”  
  
“I’ll keep an eye on Black,” David intervened, “while you write that letter.”  
  
“Want to get rid of me, do you?” Harry quipped.  
  
“I would like you to stop moping around,” David replied softly. “You miss that werewolf of yours.”  
  
“No, I don’t,” Harry answered immediately.  
  
“Then you’re worried about what his answer will be,” David said unwaveringly. “In any case, you’re moping, and I don’t like sleeping next to you when you’re having nightmares.”  
  
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Harry mumbled. “I can sleep in my own rooms.”  
  
David rolled his eyes. “Do you think that is why I told you about it? Nightmares or no nightmares, I sleep better with you there. Just write that letter and if you still want to stay here after that, you’re welcome to do so.”  
  
“Fine,” Harry muttered, reluctantly getting up from the kitchen chair and walking over to the combined bed and sitting room to write Fenrir a letter.  
  
He kept it short and to the point because he knew that a long letter would only frustrate Fenrir, and he didn’t want to rub in Fenrir’s reading problems. So in the end, it was only a short question:  
  
 _Do you want me to come back?_  
  
He folded the paper and put it in his pocket since Hedwig was still out hunting and returned to the kitchen that was miraculously still intact and smelling heavenly of pasta and vegetables. Sirius was stirring the sauce with peppers, zucchinis, tomatoes and carrots while David was already setting the table.  
  
“Have you sent the letter?” Sirius asked, decanting the noodles before he moved on to grating the Parmesan.  
  
“Hedwig isn’t back yet,” Harry answered, counting the plates. “Is Malfoy coming for dinner?”  
  
David nodded tensely. “I invited him.”  
  
“I’m sure we have enough food for everyone.” Harry smiled encouragingly. “I just hope he comes on time because I want to eat something before I get sick again. Siri, how much longer?”  
  
“I just have to make the dressing for the salad,” his godfather replied and checked the garlic bread baking in the oven. “Just one more minute, I promise.”  
  
“Great.” Harry smiled at him, and Sirius smiled back full force, miraculously transforming into the handsome man on the wedding photo of Harry’s parents.  
  
Sirius was just adding yoghurt dressing to the salad when there was a polite knock on the door. David went to open the door for the younger Malfoy, who looked as immaculately handsome as always, carefully leaning in to peck the older man’s lips. David didn’t show any signs of discomfort at this greeting, even smiling his grimacing smile at the blond wizard.  
  
“Get a move on, you two,” Sirius called out. “We want to eat.”  
  
Harry smiled as they entered the kitchen, nodding curtly at the Malfoy heir, who nodded back and pulled out a chair for David and waited for him to take a seat before he sat down himself.  
  
Sirius started dishing out the food, taking care to make Harry’s portions the largest and also sat down. “Tuck in before it gets cold.”  
  
“Thank you, Lord Black, it smells delicious,” Draco said with a charming smile, but Sirius only snorted.  
  
“Your manners don’t impress us, Malfoy, so save them for another time and eat.”  
  
Draco seemed rather put out at this, obviously not knowing how to behave now that his safe line had been cut, and they lapsed into silence that was only interrupted by the clinking of the cutlery. Suddenly Harry dropped his fork, pushed back his chair with a quiet curse and hastened to the bathroom where he proceeded to throw up everything he had just eaten.  
  
Sirius followed the younger man, kneeling down behind him to hold his sweaty hair out of his face.   
  
“I hate this,” Harry murmured, slumping back against the older Animagus. “When is this going to be over?”  
  
“If you’re lucky any day now,” Sirius replied soothingly, handing Harry a wet towel to wipe his face.  
  
“And if not?” Harry demanded.  
  
“Then you’ll get rid of the morning sickness when the baby is born,” Sirius admitted sheepishly.  
  
“Great,” Harry groused. “So I might as well get settled in the bathroom because I’ll spend most of my days in here, anyway.”  
  
“Nonsense,” Sirius said, pointedly optimistic. “Lily started to feel better in the middle of her second trimester so there’s a good chance that it will be the same for you.”  
  
“Just that I’m male and all those hormones are wreaking havoc in my body, making this quite different than a normal pregnancy, you mean,” Harry muttered unhappily. “I’m sorry about your dinner.”  
  
“Don’t worry. I hope you liked it, at least before you were hit by nausea,” Sirius replied, helping him up.  
  
“It was great, though I’d have liked only eating it forward,” Harry answered. “Can you get me a glass of water, please?”  
  
“Sure, cub.” Sirius made sure that Harry was standing steadily before he summoned a glass and a bottle of still mineral water.  
  
Harry meanwhile splashed cold water into his face, staring at himself in the mirror with disgust. He looked horrible.  
  
“Don’t scowl at yourself, Harry,” Sirius admonished him gently. “Smile.”  
  
Harry glanced incredulously at him. “Is that the best advice you have?”  
  
“You could scowl at me,” Sirius offered cautiously before he sighed. “I really don’t know, Harry. I just don’t want you to get depressed.”  
  
“I’m not depressed, just annoyed,” Harry replied, taking a sip of water before spitting it in the sink. “I’d be happy enough if I had food cravings instead of nausea.”  
  
“I’m sure that will come soon as well,” Sirius said and chuckled softly when Harry groaned. “Come on, cub, let’s go back. I have some saltine crackers so that you can get at least a little bit in your stomach.”  
  
The thought of food anywhere near him made his stomach roil in disgust, but he obediently followed his godfather back into the kitchen.  
  
“How are you feeling, Harry?” David asked when they came back.  
  
“Probably as bad as I look,” Harry muttered, banishing the remains of their dinner with a swish of his wand and dropped back in his seat. “I hope you were finished.”  
  
“Is something wrong with you, Potter?” Draco demanded, delicately putting down his fork. “You used to eat like a bird and now you first stuff yourself and then throw up.”  
  
Harry glared at him. “What happened to that eternal gratefulness of yours? How I eat is none of your damned business.”  
  
Draco arched one elegant eyebrow. “I gathered from Lord Black’s earlier rebuke that you do not appreciate false politeness. And I think it is my business if you have a contagious sickness and still sleep in the same bed as my boyfriend.”  
  
“Draco, this is not the right place or time for this conversation,” David told him sternly with a look at Harry’s pale face.  
  
“Then do tell me, when is the right time?” Draco demanded angrily. “I don’t expect you to move in with me or even share a bed with me, but what I don’t get is why, if you’re so afraid of touch, you have no problem at all letting Potter close and sleeping next to him.”  
  
David tensed at the aggressive tone, and Harry’s eyes. “You remember what we agreed on, about not putting pressure on David, don’t you, Malfoy?”  
  
Malfoy sighed, slowly and carefully putting his hand over David’s, who winced slightly at the touch. “I’m sorry, David, I didn’t mean to get loud. But it bothers me.”  
  
David was completely irresponsive until Harry dropped to his knees beside him and grasped his other hand, squeezing it encouragingly. The grey-haired man whimpered, almost crushing Harry’s hand with his grip.  
  
“Shh, David, it’s alright,” Harry murmured, rubbing soothing circles on the back of his hand. “No one is going to hurt you. Draco is just protective of you.”  
  
“Possessive,” David muttered. “It’s not protectiveness; it’s possessiveness.”  
  
“No, David,” Harry argued gently, shushing Draco with a look. “I’m pretty sure he’s protective. He doesn’t want you to get hurt or sick because of me or anyone else. He’s just a bit clumsy about it at times.”  
  
“Clumsy, my arse!” David whispered angrily. “There’s nothing clumsy about taking what you want.”  
  
“No one is taking anything from you,” Harry said, silencing Draco again. “You’re absolutely safe. You can give something if you want to, but no one is going to force you. I’m here to make sure of that.”  
  
“You can’t protect me forever. You have your own problems.”  
  
“And I’m very well able to handle those and keep you safe as long as necessary,” Harry promised softly, grasping David’s shaking hand with both of his. “Come on, you wanted a miracle. Why did I survive if you were going to give up anyway?”  
  
“I’m not giving up,” David argued, and Harry snorted softly.  
  
“Looks like it to me,” Harry stated.  
  
“And what if?” David demanded. “I’m not going to wait around till it happens again.”  
  
“And you think Draco would do that to you?” Harry asked gently. “Really? Because to me he seems rather considerate and patient and if you would look at him, I’m sure you would see how your mistrust is wearing him thin.”  
  
David took a deep breath, but then cautiously peered up at the blond, who had an unguarded, vulnerable look in his silver eyes and squeezed the grey-haired man’s hand reassuringly before lifting it to his mouth to breathe a kiss over David’s knuckles.  
  
“I love you. Let me help you,” he whispered. “Tell me how, and I’ll help you in any way I can.”  
  
“Tell me how,” David forwarded the question to Harry.  
  
“Why don’t you start by being honest?” Harry offered, sighing when David tensed. “I really think you need to tell Draco what happened if you want him to help you, David. Come, what are you afraid of?”  
  
“That it’ll become real,” David murmured, broken.  
  
“Isn’t it real already?” Draco asked. “Would me officially knowing change so much for you?”  
  
“It might,” David whispered.   
  
“Love, please look at me,” Draco demanded gently, waiting for the older man to return his gaze. “Nothing will change for me, nothing will change between us, and you don’t have to tell me, but it would mean a lot to me if you tried to confide in me.”  
  
David was silent for a moment before he jerked his head in a nod. “But Harry stays.”  
  
“But not on the floor,” Sirius spoke up, approaching the three other men and putting his hands on Harry’s shoulders.  
  
“He’s right, Harry, you have to think of... your condition,” David agreed, tugging Harry up.  
  
“You can say it.” Harry rolled his eyes, getting to his feet. “I’m pregnant, so no, Malfoy, I’m pretty sure David won’t catch anything from me.”  
  
Draco’s lips quirked at that revelation. “Merlin, Potter, wasn’t your life complicated enough?”  
  
“Why take the easy way when the hard way is so much longer?” Harry muttered, surprised when Draco actually reached out to stabilise him.  
  
“What, Potter? Did you think I would let you fall?” Draco asked, holding out his hand to David and waiting patiently for the older man to take a hold of it.  
  
In the living room, they took a seat on the sofa and Harry put his arm around David’s slender shoulders when the older man leant against him. Draco sat on David’s other side, and Sirius took a seat in the armchair closest to Harry. It was clear that this wasn’t how the Animagus had planned to spend the evening and that he didn’t know what to do with himself, shifting nervously. Harry smiled briefly at him, even though he didn’t know how to ease his godfather’s fear, but then his attention was drawn to the Death Eater at his side, who started to speak very softly.   
  
There was so much pain and self-hatred in his voice that Harry felt his throat lump up with tears even though he had heard most of it before. Draco wasn’t faring any better, but to his credit he showed no reaction that could have been interpreted, even by David’s confused mind, as averse, and he gently caressed David’s hand and wrist. All the horrid details, the fear and despair and disgust, poured out of the escaped prisoner, accompanied by dry sobs and a death grip on Harry’s hand.  
  
Eventually he fell silent, his head resting lightly against Harry’s shoulder. Harry had lost the feeling in his hand a long while ago, but he still reached up to thumb away the tears from David’s cheeks.   
  
Draco put David’s hand over his chest, tapping the rhythm of his heart beat on the back of it. “This is for you, David,” he said insistently. “It hasn’t slowed, or grown weaker and while it was horrible what happened to you, it doesn’t change how I feel for you.”  
  
“It changes what I feel for you, though,” David whispered.  
  
“I understand that,” Draco promised. “If you want to take it slowly, if you need me to back off, if I can help you in any way, that is exactly what will happen. Just please, let me in.” Draco got to his knees in front of the older man, pressing his cheek into David’s hands. “I want to help you, please.”  
  
“You can’t handle it,” David muttered.  
  
The blond took a sharp breath. “I can try, can’t I? You trust Po... Harry to be able to handle what happened to you, why not me? We’re the same age.”  
  
David snorted. “In years perhaps, but not in experience. Harry can handle it, you can’t. That’s a simple fact.”  
  
“I will learn then,” Draco said stubbornly. “Tell me what you need, and I will do it.”  
  
David snorted again, but Harry shushed his derisive retort. “I believe, Draco, that the problem for David is that he can’t tell you what he needs. You have to know that.”  
  
“I’ll learn that,” Draco insisted.  
  
“You can’t learn intuition,” David replied scornfully.   
  
“I don’t think Draco is lacking intuition, David,” Harry replied gently, carding his fingers through the older man’s grey hair. “What Draco is lacking is your trust. He’s just afraid to do something wrong and unintentionally hurt you. I’m also afraid.”  
  
“You’re never afraid, you’re a bloody Gryffindor,” David snapped. “Don’t try to manipulate me.”  
  
“Don’t shout at Harry,” Sirius growled warningly. “He’s pregnant. And of course Gryffindors are afraid, we just hide it better. Being raped is no permit to stop giving a damn about others.”  
  
“Thank you, Sirius,” Harry silenced his godfather, not once interrupting his careful patting. “I wouldn’t have phrased it quite like that, but Sirius has a point. Most of all, being raped is no reason to stop caring about yourself, David, it’s no reason to hide away and give up. You’re afraid of being hurt again, and yes, I’m there for you, but you should at least try to make some room for Draco.”  
  
“I’m not saying that you should cut all contact with Harry,” Draco offered cautiously. “No, I’m grateful for his help and support, but I’m here, too, you know? To share the good **and** the bad times. I’m not incompetent or insensitive and I love you in a way Harry could never.”  
  
“That’s not very reassuring,” David grimaced, but hesitantly returned Draco’s embrace. “Merlin save me, I think I found a Malfoy who’s too innocent for me.”  
  
Draco laughed. “My ancestors just turned over in their graves. So, you’ll give me a chance?”  
  
“I better do, right? Or Harry will kick me out of my own bed. He’ll be the only one I’ll allow that close to me,” David murmured. “For now at least.”  
  
“All right.” Draco sighed. “I’ll try to accept that, love.”  
  
He gently and carefully pulled David into another embrace, away from Harry.  
  
Harry stretched in relief as David’s weight was lifted from his side and folded his legs against his body with a small sigh. Sirius swished his wand, also one of Ollivander’s new fabrications, directing a blanket to spread over Harry before he got up and wrapped the blanket more tightly around his godson. Harry smiled in thanks, ready to fall asleep just when Hedwig announced her return with a shrill shriek. She dropped a half-eaten mouse in his lap.  
  
“Thanks, Hedwig,” Harry muttered, though his stomach revolted at the sight. “Why don’t you eat your mouse, hm? I think I’ll keep to crackers for now.”  
  
Hedwig hooted in protest but took the dead rodent and flew over to the desk to eat her meal there.  
  
“You wanted to send your letter to Fenrir,” Sirius reminded Harry, who reluctantly reached into his pocket to get the letter.  
  
But instead of one piece of parchment he found two. His own letter and the one Fenrir had written for him while waiting for the full moon. He stared at the scrawly writing for a moment before he pressed the short note to his chest, feeling for some reason like crying. He quickly got a grip on himself, though, and softly called Hedwig to his side, handing her the letter.  
  
“Take that to my big bad wolf, alright, girl?” He murmured, petting her white feathers. “And return safely.”  
  
Hedwig hooted, nipping Harry’s finger in affection before she flapped her wings and took off through the window. Harry closed his eyes, snuggling into the corner of the sofa, the hand with Fenrir’s letter resting lightly on his stomach.  
  
“You seem tired, cub,” Sirius stated. “How about you get some rest? It’ll be some time before he’ll respond.”  
  
“Sounds good,” Harry said, still with his eyes closed. “David, do you want to stay?”  
  
“Yes, but I think I should start giving Draco a chance now, shouldn’t I?” the Death Eater replied softly, and Harry smiled. “Yes, I figured that.”  
  
“My door’s open if you need me,” Harry assured him, squeezing David’s hand. “Take good care of each other.”  
  
“Take good care of yourself as well,” Draco said. “Male pregnancies aren’t to be taken lightly.”  
  
Harry snorted. “I figured that much, but thanks.”  
  
“No problem, Potter, at the earliest convenience I’ll look through our family library. I’m sure we have some tomes that might be of interest to you,” Draco stated.   
  
“Uh, thanks,” Harry muttered, surprised and strangely gratified by Draco’s involvement.   
  
Draco’s lips quirked. “My family believes that every child is a miracle, and I always wanted a little brother or sister.”  
  
“You realise that this child has no actual relation to you, don’t you?” Harry asked sarcastically.  
  
“Oh, but, Potter, you’re my favourite enemy and the shoulder to cry on for my boyfriend.” Draco smirked. “That entitles me to worry.”  
  
“Anything that makes your world brighter,” Harry muttered under his breath, closing his eyes again.  
  
His eyes snapped open when he was scooped up, and he gave an undignified squeak, trying to twist away from the arms holding him.  
  
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Malfoy?!” Harry demanded.  
  
“Stay still, Potter,” Draco admonished him. “You can’t sleep on the sofa. I’m carrying you to your bed.”  
  
“Let me down at once,” Harry ordered, still struggling, but Draco held him secure and only let him down on the bed.  
  
“Don’t fret, Potter, I’m not doing anything to you,” Draco replied calmly, turning his back on the former Gryffindor. “You have to take better care of yourself.”  
  
“Never do that again,” Harry snapped, dealing a magical shove to Draco’s back and making the blond stumble out of the room. “David, get him out of my sight. I don’t want to lose my temper.”  
  
“Alright,” David said readily, putting a hand on Draco’s shoulder. “You heard him, Draco. Let’s go.”  
  
“I didn’t do anything,” Draco protested. “You know that he shouldn’t sleep on the sofa, all bent and crooked.”  
  
“Let’s go, Draco,” David repeated, none-too-patiently, pushing the blond completely out of the room and sent Harry an apologetic smile.  
  
Harry sighed, slumping in the pillows. “Why does everyone feel the need to manhandle me?”  
  
“I couldn’t tell you,” Sirius replied, tucking Harry in. “Just know that we do it because we care.”  
  
“Care? Malfoy? About me?” Harry snorted. “I somehow find that hard to believe.”  
  
“Well, maybe that isn’t his main motivation,” Sirius admitted. “But it certainly is mine. Now try to get some sleep, cub. I’ll come by in the morning, alright?”  
  
“Yeah, sounds good,” Harry murmured. “You’ll be fine, won’t you?”  
  
“What do you mean, Harry?” Sirius asked, pushing Harry’s hair away from his forehead.  
  
“Nightmares. I don’t want you to have nightmares.”  
  
“Don’t worry, Harry,” Sirius assured him gently. “I’ll get my deserved rest.”  
  
“Siri...”  
  
“I don’t want you to worry, Harry,” Sirius insisted, kissing Harry’s forehead before turning away. “What happened to me was horrible, but what I did to you was even more so. Remus won’t allow me to feel too bad, so this might be one of my few chances.”  
  
“I don’t like it,” Harry declared, and Sirius chuckled.  
  
“You wouldn’t be my Harry if you did. Sleep well.” With that Sirius left Harry to himself, and the younger man hit his pillow in frustration.  
  
ö_ö_ö  
  
Thunder woke Harry from his sleep. No, not thunder, drumming. It took a moment for Harry to wake fully and identify the origin of the noise as forceful knocking on the door. With a groan he rolled out of his bed and padded over to the door, opening it and blinking drowsily up at his visitor. Then he blinked again, staring up at Fenrir.  
  
“Hey, what are you doing here?” He rubbed his eyes, half believing that he was still dreaming.  
  
“You sent me the letter,” Fenrir grumbled defensively, with the piece of parchment in his hand.  
  
“Yes, but I thought you’d write back and not show up in the middle of the night.” Harry sighed, stepping away from the door. “Won’t you come in?”  
  
Fenrir grunted, but followed Harry inside his rooms, wondering how to start the impending conversation. “I didn’t know you minded those nicknames,” he said, cautiously approaching Harry who had sat down on the sofa.  
  
Harry shook his head. “I don’t mind your nicknames, at least not most of them.”  
  
“Oh,” Fenrir said. “Then what is it?”  
  
“I’m a wizard, Fen. I like being a wizard, probably just as much as you like being a werewolf and constantly being insulted and put down is not how I want to spend the rest of my life,” Harry explained as calmly as possible.  
  
“But I don’t mean you,” Fenrir protested. “I know that you’re different.”  
  
“You can’t continue seeing me as a different species all together. If you say that wizards are like this or that wizards do that, you refer to me as well.”  
  
“I don’t see why you want to be one of them,” Fenrir argued. “They betrayed you, all of them, and expected you to do their dirty work.”  
  
“Should I start hating myself now?” Harry asked testily. “As I see it, you already do that fiercely enough for both of us.”  
  
“I don’t hate you!” Fenrir growled, grasping Harry’s hand and squeezing it. “I don’t hate you.”  
  
Harry sighed. “I know, Fen. But how many wizards have you met, really got to know? Not many, huh? What am I supposed to think when you judge us? Where did you get that oh-so-reliable information if not from me?”  
  
Fenrir lowered his massive head in thought. “But they are only prejudices.”  
  
“Exactly,” Harry said softly. “I’ve had enough of them, Fen, not only from you but from everyone. Won’t you please just see me?”  
  
“I do see you, Harry,” Fenrir murmured, pulling Harry into his arms. “I know you’re not like other humans.”  
  
Harry closed his eyes in exasperation. “I am human.”  
  
“But - ”  
  
“Nothing but, Fenrir,” Harry cut him off, moving out of the werewolf’s arms. “You have to stop feeling like a kicked puppy. Not everyone is against you, not everyone means you or your pack harm and not everyone thinks that werewolves should be wiped out.”  
  
“Alright,” Fenrir said, tugging Harry back into his arms. “You’re Harry, you’re a wizard and you’re mine. I can live with that.”  
  
“And you’ll cut down on the derogatory comments?” Harry asked.  
  
“Yes.” Fenrir nodded. “But you mustn’t take it personally if one slips out from time to time.”  
  
“I’ll try not to,” Harry murmured. “But you know, pregnant people are a bit touchy at times.”  
  
“Lame excuses,” Fenrir grunted, his hands resting lightly on Harry’s stomach. “I know you better than that. You’d be touchy even without being pregnant.”  
  
“Hey!” Harry exclaimed in mock-irritation. “Be nice to the man who’s putting up with you.”  
  
“Oh, I’ll be nice to you, little moonlight, very nice.” Fenrir smirked, nuzzling Harry’s neck. “I missed you and if I haven’t said so yet I want you to come back.”  
  
“I thought so.” Harry grinned, sneaking a hand down Fenrir’s jeans. “But maybe you can afford a bit more time?”  
  
“Hm, certainly,” Fenrir growled, scooping Harry up and depositing him on the bed, crawling over him. “I heard that pregnant people are horny.”  
  
“Lame excuses,” Harry muttered with a smirk before pulling Fenrir’s head down for a kiss.   
  
Fenrir complied easily, thrusting his tongue deep inside Harry’s mouth while his hands efficiently divested Harry of his clothes with little consideration for said clothes. Harry arched into the werewolf, wrapping his legs around Fenrir’s waist to cause more friction between their groins. Fenrir rumbled in pleasure, readily taking the jar of lube Harry had summoned and held out to him and hastily prepared the younger man for their joining.  
  
Their movements were hard and fast, filling the air with the sound of flesh slapping on flesh, soft groans and loud roars, but when they had both found their release, Fenrir rested inside of Harry, holding the young man close.  
  
“My little beautiful one, you’re still my favourite human, though,” Fenrir murmured in Harry’s ear and the black-haired man laughed softly.  
  
“I’m happy to hear that. No second go tonight?”  
  
“A second and a third go,” Fenrir stated. “That’s why I’ll let you rest now, so that you’ll be able to keep up with me later, sweet human.”  
  
“Okay then,” Harry mumbled, relaxing completely in the werewolf’s embrace. “How did you get here so soon?”  
  
“I camped outside the castle,” Fenrir grumbled. “I didn’t want to wait for you to get my reply and then decide to come back so I thought I’d get you myself.”  
  
“You’ve been out there all this time?” Harry asked, groaning when Fenrir nodded. “If I’d known that I would have hurried up more. I didn’t want you to leave your pack.”  
  
“You’re my pack as well,” Fenrir declared, kissing Harry’s temple. “You’re two of my pack.”  
  
Harry sighed, feeling slightly bad, but when Fenrir started to rock in and out of him again he forgot quickly about his guilt, moaning into Fenrir’s possessive kiss and burying his hands in Fenrir’s thick silver hair. Fenrir’s eyes were like liquid gold, Harry thought hazily, a tint of red, swirling, a range of emotions. Then his second orgasm crashed down over him, and he lost that train of thought as Fenrir’s eyes disappeared behind a shower of stars.   
  
“Don’t close your eyes, little white one,” Fenrir admonished Harry, nudging Harry’s chin with his nose. “I’m not finished yet. Put your legs over my shoulders.”  
  
Harry complied with a small groan. “I’ll be sore, wolfie.”  
  
“I know,” Fenrir said with a smirk and a tender kiss to Harry’s lips. “I want you to have a good reminder.”  
  
But he was still careful as he thrust back into Harry, enough lube to ease the penetration and caressing touches along Harry’s inner thighs to distract him from the slight discomfort. Harry felt the burn of Fenrir’s stubble along his cheek when the werewolf leaned down to lick at the moisture that had collected in the hollow of his throat. His breathing hitched mid-moan, and Fenrir roared Harry’s name and his climax into the night, carefully letting Harry’s legs slip from his shoulders as he pulled out of the younger man. He wrapped his large hand around Harry’s erection, his fingers slick with come, and started to pump. He studied the Animagus carefully, letting the irregular fluttering of Harry’s eyes and his breathing that turned more and more into panting tell him when he was applying the right pressure and using the right technique.  
  
Harry bit his lip to contain his scream as Fenrir’s ministrations sent him spiralling through his third orgasm. Fenrir chuckled, tracing Harry’s quivering muscles with his thumbs before pressing soft kisses on Harry’s dark nipples.  
  
“You’re my perfect little wizard, aren’t you?” Fenrir whispered. “I’m very proud of you.”  
  
Harry only mumbled something unintelligible, snuggling into the werewolf, who put both arms around the younger man, drawing circles on the scarred back as they drifted off into sleep.


	24. Reminders

“Shh, shh, my little one, it’ll be alright,” Fenrir murmured, holding Harry through another puking attack even though the smell of Harry’s vomit assaulted his sensitive nose.   
  
“Water,” Harry croaked, wiping his mouth and feeling absolutely miserable.  
  
Fenrir got up and poured him a glass of water from the tap, stabilising Harry’s hand as he helped him drink. “Are you feeling better, Harry?”  
  
“No, I just don’t have anything to throw up anymore,” Harry murmured. “Sorry for waking you.”  
  
“It’s alright,” Fenrir stated, flushing the toilet before helping Harry to his feet, leading him out of the bathroom. “I was awake anyway.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Werewolves don’t need much sleep,” Fenrir declared with a satisfied smirk. “And I like watching you and touching you.” His large hands snaked around Harry’s waist, tracing the slight pectoral muscles.  
  
“Not now, wolfie, I’m sorry,” Harry murmured, crawling back into bed and burying his head in his pillow.  
  
Fenrir sighed but joined Harry on the bed, wrapping himself protectively around the smaller man. He massaged Harry’s thin shoulders in an attempt to make him feel better, though he once again used too much force, and Harry winced.  
  
“Why aren’t you sleeping?” Fenrir demanded, turning Harry to face him.  
  
“Because I feel fucking sick,” Harry groused. “You try sleeping with your stomach in your throat.”  
  
“But then why’d you go back to bed?” Fenrir asked.  
  
“What’s this? Question time?” Harry snapped, groaning when one of Fenrir’s heavy hands landed on his stomach. “Beds are the right place to feel miserable.”  
  
“I don’t want you to feel miserable,” Fenrir protested.  
  
“Join the end of the queue,” Harry muttered, burying back into his pillows. “And keep your hands off of me. I’m not in the mood.”  
  
Fenrir growled angrily. “I’m trying to help you.”  
  
“Well, you’re not,” Harry retorted, intent on wallowing in self-pity for now. “Now shut up, I want to sleep.”  
  
“You just said that you can’t sleep,” the werewolf argued, and Harry turned his head enough to glare at him. “Fine, I see how it is,” Fenrir grumbled, turning to his back and staring sightlessly at the ceiling; he didn’t like ceilings, they caged him in; he didn’t like this ceiling it was wizarding, built of stone and magic, weighing down on him and threatening to suffocate him.  
  
How he hated wizards, vile, amoral, deceiving, lying, cheating, arrogant, conniving, false, disgusting wizards. He looked over at Harry, who still had his back turned towards him. To him, Harry would never be a wizard. Harry was something else, something pure and innocent and the exact opposite. Harry was more than a sacrificial lamb thrown at the feet of the big bad wolf - Fenrir smirked at the thought - no, Harry would never stand for being the prey. Harry was just as much predator as Fenrir himself, wild, stubborn, uncontrollable. Little madcap. Not a wizard.   
  
But for Harry’s sake he would pretend that he saw Harry as a wizard, which gained the race of wizards a lot of favour in his eyes, their cruelty and vileness deluded by Harry’s goodness and charm. Lucky bastards. Harry shouldn’t belong to the wizards, he should belong to Fenrir and his pack. No, only to Fenrir. His.  
  
He turned his head minutely so that he had a perfect view on Harry’s back and side. It was still dark in Harry’s bedroom, at least one hour still until the sun would rise, but Fenrir could see the contours of Harry’s slender frame, the pale skin and even the white scars on Harry’s back perfectly. He longed to reach out and feel the velvety softness under his rough fingers. He imagined what an exquisite sensation his touch would be to Harry. Surely, such smooth, silky skin would be especially sensitive, and Harry would arch against him, bucking like a wild colt and fitting so perfectly against Fenrir’s body.  
  
Harry’s hair was pitch black and stuck up even more wildly than usual, curling slightly at the nape of the younger man’s neck, the contrast as sharp as the black letters on white paper Fenrir was forced to stare at because Harry wanted him to learn how to read. He rolled his eyes in amused exasperation. What a fool he had become.  
  
The younger man groaned, shifting restlessly, but Fenrir’s body completely misinterpreted the noise, jumping to attention. Just great. Harry wouldn’t welcome his advances now, and he didn’t feel like provoking another fight. Harry needed rest, not distress.  
  
He tried to focus on something else, but instead his eyes locked onto Harry’s pale back, the supple muscles, the defined waist, the fine ribs under a spider web of scars.  
  
“Fen, don’t stare,” Harry admonished.  
  
“What does that mean?” Fenrir asked, tracing a particular series of scars that almost looked like letters.  
  
“Nothing,” Harry said curtly, turning to his back so that Fenrir wouldn’t be able to see the scars anymore. “I’m starting to feel better.”  
  
“You’re pale as a sheet,” Fenrir grumbled, grasping Harry around the waist to turn him back around. “What does that mean?”  
  
“Nothing, it’s not important,” Harry snapped, trying to pry Fenrir’s away from his body. “Don’t manhandle me, dammit.”  
  
“R,” Fenrir murmured, studying Harry’s back closely. “E, right? A. And... K... re-... reek? But that makes no sense.”  
  
“You forgot the F,” Harry said bitterly. “’Freak’, I have ‘freak’ written all over my back, are you happy now?!”  
  
Fenrir growled deeply in anger. “Who did this?”  
  
Harry snorted. “Guess. The same person who gave me the other scars, he just happened to have a knife at hand instead of a belt for once.”  
  
“How old were you, little one?” Fenrir asked gently, tracing the white lines while still holding him in place.  
  
“Seven, eight maybe.” Harry shrugged. “I had turned my teacher’s hair blue. It doesn’t matter anymore. I had all but forgotten about those scars.”  
  
“Why that word?” Fenrir asked, glaring daggers at Harry’s words.  
  
“They thought that magic, and therefore I, was freakish,” Harry murmured. “Can we drop this conversation, wolfie?”  
  
“Freak, huh? Doesn’t look like ‘freak’ to me,” Fenrir stated pensively, pressing a small kiss to the middle of Harry’s back, between the E and the A.  
  
“Then what does it look like?” Harry demanded suspiciously. “I assure you it’s not supposed to mean ‘reek’ because that’s written with two e.”  
  
“No, it’s an abbreviation,” Fenrir declared with conviction. “Do you want to know what it stands for?”  
  
“Sure, why not?” Harry muttered, not at all enthusiastically.  
  
“Fenrir’s rebellious, enchanting, amazing cub.” The werewolf smirked in satisfaction at his solution, especially when Harry relaxed with a snort.  
  
“Cub is spelled with a c,” Harry corrected.  
  
“Not my fault that bastard didn’t know that.” Fenrir shrugged indifferently, sitting Harry up in his lap. “That is what it means, in any case.”  
  
“Well, if you’re sure.” Harry grinned a little, stretching his legs before folding them neatly beside Fenrir’s. “Thank you.”  
  
“I don’t see what for, though I suddenly like that dogfather of yours a whole lot more,” the silver-haired man murmured, allowing his lips to wander from Harry’s chin up to his temple. “My beautiful white wolf, no one’s allowed to hurt you.”  
  
Harry sighed, resting his head comfortably on Fenrir’s shoulder and grabbed Fenrir’s hand to put it on his stomach. “Thanks.”  
  
“For getting you pregnant?” Fenrir grinned. “That was quite an accomplishment, I know.”  
  
“Idiot.”  
  
“So you say now, but that sounded very different when you were moaning underneath me,” Fenrir said smugly, trailing his hand lower to Harry’s groin.   
  
Harry tensed, twisting away from the werewolf’s touch and instead burying his nose in his neck. “Can we please postpone that, wolfie? I don’t feel like it.”  
  
“Like what do you feel then?” Fenrir demanded, but put his hands on Harry’s back to support him.  
  
“Tell me something about yourself,” Harry said with a half-shrug. “For all the time we’ve been shagging, I know almost nothing about you.”  
  
“I’m a werewolf.”  
  
“I know **that**.” Harry rolled his eyes. “Just tell me... when’s your birthday for example?”  
  
It was Fenrir’s turn to shrug. “I get one year older with every year, what does it matter when exactly? Birthdays are such a human invention.”  
  
“Fine, then how old are you?” Harry inquired, not ready to give up yet.  
  
“I have a tally sheet somewhere,” Fenrir grumbled. “I’m not too old for you.”  
  
“I never said you were,” Harry protested. “I’m just trying to make conversation, and you’re successfully thwarting all my attempts.”  
  
“You’re asking irrelevant questions.”  
  
“That’s the point of small talk.”  
  
“If they’re irrelevant they have no point,” Fenrir argued and Harry groaned. “I don’t see why it’s important.”  
  
“Because I let you stick your dick in me without even knowing where you’ve stuck it before,” Harry replied tersely; Fenrir smirked.  
  
“Jealous?”  
  
“No,” Harry answered simply. “But I want to know more about you.”  
  
Fenrir’s smirked dimmed considerably. “Go ahead.”  
  
“What’s your favourite food?”  
  
“Innocent little boys,” Fenrir replied with a leer and a long swipe of his tongue down Harry’s throat.  
  
“That’s not on the menu today,” Harry said tersely, pushing the werewolf’s head away from him. “Is a serious conversation too much to ask?”  
  
“I thought you wanted to engage in small talk,” Fenrir grumbled. “What’s wrong with my responses?”  
  
“That’s it! They aren’t responses,” Harry muttered, exasperated, turning away from the older man. “I’ll just sleep now.”  
  
Fenrir released his breath in a snort, rubbing his fingers over Harry’s rigid back. “I don’t remember much of my life before I became a werewolf, little curious one.”  
  
“Then tell me about your life as a werewolf,” Harry demanded, pushing Fenrir down on the bed and resting his chin on Fenrir’s chest. “There’s so much I don’t know, that I don’t understand. I think I’d like to fit in better, you know?”  
  
The werewolf looped both arms over Harry’s back and sighed. “You do fit in, Harry.”  
  
Harry shook his head, chuckling softly. “No, Fen, I really don’t.” Fenrir wanted to protest, to argue, but Harry silenced him with a kiss and then demanded, “Tell me about your life! Anything.”  
  
Fenrir knew that trying to convince Harry that he did indeed have a place with the pack, would inevitably lead to raised voices, traded insults and hurt feelings. It probably wasn’t the most foresightful option to postpone that discussion, but Fenrir liked this feeling of lazy contentment that came with lying in bed with Harry. Maybe the outcome would be better if he waited until he had learned how to navigate Harry’s moods. Not that the chances of that happening were anything more than nonexistent.   
  
“I like being a werewolf, sweet human, because my life isn’t meaningless anymore, **I’m** no longer meaningless. I’m needed.”  
  
“Of course you are,” Harry mumbled.  
  
“You don’t want to need me, though,” Fenrir growled before he could stop himself, pressing Harry close to his body.  
  
“Don’t start that again, Fen,” Harry pleaded, listening to Fenrir’s strong heartbeat. “I’m glad that you’re here with me, that you want to help me with my child.”  
  
“Our child.”  
  
“That’s what I said,” Harry murmured. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t accepted my decision to keep the baby.”  
  
Fenrir ran his fingers through Harry’s hair, grasping it and tugging him up by it, ignoring Harry’s wince. “We don’t always agree with each other, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t accept your opinion, silly little thing,” he grumbled, brushing a harsh kiss over Harry’s lips. “And I’d never throw you out.”  
  
Harry sighed, his warm breath ghosting intimately over Fenrir’s skin. “I’m cold.”  
  
The werewolf grunted, lifting up with Harry on top of him and pulling the blanket out from under him, over Harry, though he didn’t like the artificial feel of it. “When can we go back to the pack?”  
  
“Do you want to go now?” Harry asked sleepily.   
  
“You’re tired. When won’t you be tired anymore?” Fenrir demanded. “I can wait until then.”  
  
Harry shrugged a little. “Don’t know. I can sleep later if you want to go now.”  
  
“What about your friends?” Fenrir asked, trying very hard to keep the sneer out of his voice. “Don’t you want to say your goodbyes?”  
  
“Sirius is coming by in the morning,” Harry murmured, curling up over the werewolf’s stomach. “I should probably get another check-up before we go.”  
  
“Alright. Are you sure you don’t want to rest a bit longer?”  
  
“Still feeling sick,” Harry mumbled. “Sometimes walking helps.”  
  
“Then we’ll go to get your check-up now,” Fenrir decided, fishing for Harry’s and his pants that had somehow landed under the bed and with a last squeeze to Harry’s firm little butt, he pushed him up. “Get dressed.”  
  
Harry sat up with a small groan, rubbing his stomach and glaring down at his feet, then at Fenrir, just for effect, before he got up slowly and slipped into his worn-out jeans. Fenrir also got dressed and, once finished, stepped behind Harry, rocking the younger man carefully, with his large hands resting on the softly swelling stomach.  
  
“I guess you mean well, but this is really making me nauseous, wolfie,” Harry mumbled, moving away from the werewolf and putting on a sweater.  
  
“You’re so difficult, little moonlight,” Fenrir grumbled, but carefully took Harry by the hand. “This okay?”  
  
A smirk flitted over Harry’s face. “Becoming romantic in your old age, big bad wolf? Very touching.”  
  
“Don’t get cheeky, small one.” Fenrir bared his teeth at the younger man who gave himself wholly unimpressed.  
  
“I don’t have to **get** cheeky, I already am.” Harry grinned, leaning into Fenrir’s side.  
  
Fenrir grumbled, but walked Harry to the Healer’s ward, pushing the door open for them and only wrinkling his nose in disgust at the smell of antiseptic, potions and sickness.  
  
“Healer Lestrange?” Harry called, peaking his head into Rudolphus’ office.   
  
“Mr. Potter, is something the matter?” The brown-haired man’s head snapped up as the healer straightened from his slumped position. “Are you experiencing pain?”  
  
“No, nothing of the like.” Harry shook his head quickly, biting his lip at the wave of nausea that washed over him. “You wouldn’t have something against morning sickness, would you?” Harry asked hopefully.  
  
“Are you still having bouts of nausea, Mr. Potter?” Rudolphus asked, and with a curt nod at Fenrir, passed his hands over Harry’s slightly sweaty brow.  
  
Something like a fresh breeze went through Harry’s body, dimming the nausea to a bearable level. “Thanks. No, it hasn’t gone away. This isn’t normal.”  
  
“It’s still within the range of normality, I assure you,” Rudolphus murmured, motioning for Harry to take a seat on one of the beds. “Male pregnancies are a bit unpredictable in that respect.”  
  
“For some reason, I don’t find that very reassuring,” Harry muttered petulantly. “When do I get to the fun part of being pregnant? Food cravings, mood swings, horniness, you know that kind of thing?”  
  
Rudolphus carefully freed Harry’s stomach from the wide sweater he was wearing, drawing a slow circle around Harry’s navel with his wand to conjure up the ultrasonic screen. “I believe that you will soon encounter these more enjoyable aspects, Mr. Potter. Tell me if you feel any pain.” He began to prod Harry’s belly. “Mr. Greyback, I assure you I’m not hurting Mr. Potter.”  
  
Fenrir still bared his teeth at the healer and sat down on the bed next to Harry. The bed creaked in protest, and Harry groaned as he was roughly pulled against Fenrir’s chest.  
  
“How’s the baby?” Harry asked nervously, staring at the image of his child.  
  
“In perfect health,” Rudolphus answered soothingly, conjuring up a chair next to the bed to sit down so that he was on eye level with Harry. “There’s some scar tissue around the womb, but that should not worry us. How are feeling, physically and emotionally?”  
  
“Alright,” Harry mumbled with a furtive glance at Fenrir, “in both respects.”  
  
“Mr. Greyback, would you mind waiting outside for a moment?” Rudolphus asked.  
  
“Yes, I would,” Fenrir snapped, grabbing Harry around the waist. “I’m not leaving.”  
  
“I cannot conduct a proper psychological evaluation if my patient is impeded by your presence, Mr. Greyback,” Rudolphus reasoned.  
  
“I’m not impeding Harry,” Fenrir argued forcefully.  
  
“But Mr. Potter has a right for privacy and he evidently feels self-conscious,” Rudolphus insisted.  
  
“I don’t have a mind for this now,” Harry muttered, putting a hand over Fenrir’s mouth. “I don’t want to do the psycho test now anyway.”  
  
Fenrir kissed Harry’s fingertips before taking the slender hand away from his mouth to be able to protest, “But it’s important! There might be something wrong with you!”  
  
Harry glared at him, ramming his elbow back into Fenrir’s solar plexus. “You insensitive bastard! I’m not insane.”  
  
“I didn’t say that.”  
  
“You sure did imply that,” Harry snapped, only more annoyed because Fenrir didn’t even wince. “Let go of me.”  
  
“Little one, try to be reasonable - ”  
  
“You’re not one to talk, you unreasonable, egocentric, mean person,” Harry hissed. “I’m not insane. I’m not.”  
  
“Shh, that’s not the issue at all, my little moonlight,” Fenrir murmured, keeping his calm and ignoring the angry fists that crackled down on his chest and aimed for his chin. “But you now have to look out for our child as well, and maybe it would help you to talk with someone about your problems. You can rant about me, wouldn’t you like that?”  
  
“So you’re saying that I’m mentally unstable?” Harry demanded. “Or that I have no reason to rant at you?”  
  
“No, but you’re overreacting,” Fenrir muttered, stroking up and down Harry’s arms and thighs. “I didn’t do anything to you.”  
  
“You knocked me up!” Harry exclaimed. “You’re the reason I’m always sick, mustn’t lose my temper and can’t use my Animagus form anymore. Tell me again that you did nothing!”  
  
“You’re losing your temper now,” Fenrir dared to object, even though Rudolphus motioned for him to shut up.  
  
“I’m **not** losing my temper.” Harry’s eyes flashed dangerously. “This isn’t losing my temper, this is simple annoyance because... because!”  
  
“That’s no reason,” Fenrir pointed out with a small growl, nipping Harry’s neck in warning. “Calm down now, sweet one.”  
  
“No, dammit. I’ll calm down when I feel like it and not one second earlier. You can go if that irks you, oh-great-and-mighty-Alpha,” Harry mocked, avidly watching for a reaction from the werewolf that followed suit as the silver-haired man grabbed him a little harder, bending Harry’s head with a quick tug on his black hair. His hot breath caressed Harry’s neck as he draped himself over Harry’s back, keeping Harry in a submissively curled up position.  
  
“Enough, my little white one,” Fenrir grumbled. “I won’t be provoked, you can gripe and grouse all you want, I won’t retaliate.”  
  
“Why not?” Harry demanded, his voice muffled as he was talking against his knees. “Because I’m mentally damaged?”  
  
“No, because you’re pregnant and because we’ve already had enough fights. I don’t need to be sent away again and worry about what trouble you might attract while I can’t watch over you, my little fiery one,” Fenrir replied gently. “I won’t let you go until you have calmed down.”  
  
“I can’t breathe,” Harry complained.  
  
“But you seem to be able to talk just fine,” Fenrir returned, unimpressed, as he sniffed Harry’s soft hair, nuzzling the younger man’s cheek.  
  
“Let me go!” Harry ordered.  
  
“No,” Fenrir replied simply. “This won’t work, small one. We came to get your check up and we’ll get your check up, and that obviously also includes a psychological evaluation.”  
  
“Maybe you should get an evaluation,” Harry snapped. “You narcissistic, bipolar, paranoid - ”  
  
“I get it, Harry, I annoy you, but that won’t change my position,” Fenrir murmured. “I’m here to support you and I’ll stay here.”  
  
“Dammit, you’re not supposed to be like this,” Harry mumbled unhappily. “I wanted to fight.”  
  
“Well, sorry to disappoint you,” Fenrir answered sarcastically, but relaxed his hold slightly when Harry seemed to slump in defeat. “I don’t fight if I already know I will win.” He nipped Harry’s ear affectionately, barking out a laugh when Harry gave an indignant shout. “I’ll fight with you another time, my strong little wolf, when you’re feeling better.”  
  
“Fine,” Harry muttered. “You can let me up now.”  
  
“Are you sure?” Fenrir asked, gradually easing up on Harry, allowing him to straighten up. “I don’t mind having you like this.”  
  
“You wouldn’t,” Harry grumbled, but pecked Fenrir’s cheek in silent thanks. “Sorry for that, Healer Lestrange.”  
  
“It’s not a problem, Mr. Potter. I gained some insights by listening to your discussion,” he answered. “May I ask, do you resent the loss of your Animagus form and wild magic?”  
  
Harry blinked at that suggestion, slowly shaking his head. “No.”  
  
“Are you quite certain, Mr. Potter? It would be very understandable. For a wizard as extraordinarily powerful as you to be cut off from his means of control and protection, must be a drastic and all together unwelcome experience. But you have to realise that if this is the case, we have to meet the problem head-on before it escalates. Do you resent the baby for this restriction?”  
  
“No!” Harry was quick to exclaim, but he glanced at the werewolf and then looked down. “I’m just afraid that I might start to. If I direct my anger at Fen, it’s safe. He can fight back, we make up, everything’s fine again, and I feel... I don’t know, better somehow. But if I start hating my baby, what will that lead to? I can’t allow that.”  
  
“Why do you fear that might happen?” Rudolphus asked gently, while Fenrir kissed Harry’s temple soothingly.  
  
Harry shrugged helplessly. “You said yourself that it could happen.”  
  
“But not that it is a matter of fact,” Rudolphus replied. “I think that you love that little life inside you very much and that you don’t have the capacity to hate your own child.”  
  
The green eyes narrowed angrily. “I’m not some saint. I’m not the Golden Boy anymore. I can hate and despise just like everyone else. I’m not infallible; I make mistakes and Merlin, I’m allowed to make them!”  
  
“Of course, Mr. Potter, I merely meant to point out that your brink of hate is much too high as that an innocent child could ever cross it,” Rudolphus appeased him.  
  
“It’s not fair,” Harry protested weakly. “It’s not fair to Fenrir.”  
  
“I don’t mind, little one,” the werewolf murmured. “Sometimes, I enjoy fighting with you. I like seeing how strong you really are. And I understand that this isn’t easy for you. Probably I’m not always as helpful or supportive as I’d like to believe, but I’m pretty sure that there’re at least some things I do right.” He grinned. “Even if you do everything to find fault with me.”  
  
“I’m not that bad,” Harry protested. “Am I?”  
  
“No.” Fenrir smirked. “You’re worse, my little temperamental thing. But I like you anyway.”  
  
“You better do,” Harry grumbled, nuzzling into the werewolf, who embraced the younger man protectively. “Or I’ll really have a reason to be angry at you, wolfie.”  
  
“And we wouldn’t want that, I take it,” Fenrir replied mockingly, silencing Harry with a demanding kiss that took away Harry’s breath and forced a low moan from his throat.  
  
Rudolphus didn’t seem bothered by the display of affection. When they separated again, he however insisted that Harry talk a bit more in depth about his feelings regarding the changes to his body and lifestyle and only gave himself satisfied when Harry agreed to another counselling session before the end of the week. If he was honest with himself, Harry had to admit that that probably wasn’t a bad idea.  
  
“I assume you plan to return to Mr. Greyback’s... home?” Rudolphus asked as he ran several more diagnostic charms and took notes on his quart.  
  
“Do you have a problem with that, human?” Fenrir bared his teeth, his previously so adamantly defended self-control lost in the blink of an eye.  
  
“That depends on the way of travel,” the healer replied calmly. “After the first trimester, Apparation is generally not recommended for pregnant women and even less for pregnant men.”  
  
“But... how am I supposed to get from the castle to the pack?” Harry asked nervously. “Are you saying that I have to stay here at the castle?”  
  
“I was going to suggest a portal,” Rudolphus offered. “Do you know what that is?”  
  
“Of course, I know what a portal is,” Harry mumbled. “It’s like a fixed portkey.”  
  
“Yes, but it is also much more agreeable and therefore a means of safe and gentle transportation,” Rudolphus explained. “You won’t feel much more than if you stepped through a door. I’m sure the Dark Lord would be readily convinced to help with the installation of one.”  
  
Fenrir growled. “I won’t tolerate wizards trespassing on my territory, doing their tricks and poisoning the air with their stench.”  
  
“Fen, remember what we talked about? About what I am?” Harry asked warningly.  
  
The werewolf sighed, long and suffering. “Right, my little wizard. I still don’t want them on my territory.”  
  
“Then I’ll stay here,” Harry answered simply, closing his eyes. “It’s too dangerous if I have no way back.”  
  
“I’ll protect you!” Fenrir insisted. “I can take you back here if you need medical attention. I can carry you.”  
  
“And what if I need help immediately?” Harry demanded. “Even you need two days to get to the castle, and that’s enough time for me to bite the dust. Do you expect me risk that?”  
  
“One and a half,” Fenrir corrected, nipping Harry’s ear when the young man rolled his eyes. “So maybe I’ll reconsider if you ask very nicely.”  
  
“How about you agree now and I’ll ask you later?” Harry offered, butting his nose against Fenrir’s slightly bearded cheek.  
  
“Hm, but you know that the interest rates are rather high at the moment,” Fenrir warned him, peppering small kisses on Harry’s neck. “Do you think you can afford to wait?”  
  
Harry nodded with a small smile. “I think I’ll be fine, but thanks. So you’re okay with a portal?”  
  
Fenrir grumbled. “Alright, but don’t expect me to be all hospitable. No w... person I didn’t specifically invite will stay longer than absolutely necessary in my territory. And I want that portal warded against anyone who doesn’t belong to my pack.”  
  
“’kay,” Harry mumbled. “I’ll go ask Voldemort then.”  
  
“What now? What about your check-up?” Fenrir demanded, keeping the pregnant wizard in place. “You can’t just run off before we’re finished.”  
  
“I’ll be right back. I told you a bit of moving helps against the nausea. It’ll do me good, won’t it, Healer Lestrange?”  
  
“If you think so, I certainly won’t object,” Rudolphus agreed readily. “There are a few more tests I would like to conduct, though.”  
  
“I won’t be long,” Harry promised, pushing against Fenrir’s chest when the werewolf made to follow him. “I’ll be right back. Why don’t you ask Healer Lestrange about the book we read? You had some questions, didn’t you? And I’m not an expert.”  
  
“But you’re pregnant!” Fenrir protested.   
  
“And you suppose that just because of that I’m suddenly omniscient, huh?” Harry asked testily. “Someday I’m really going to strangle you and I certainly hope you survive because I’ll want to do that more than once.”


	25. Clarity

“I will be glad to answer any questions you have, Mr. Greyback,” Rudolphus offered as Harry banged the door shut behind him, shutting it in Fenrir’s face. “Have you read the books on male pregnancy Mr. Potter ordered?”  
  
Fenrir grunted. “How’s your brother?”  
  
Rudolphus sighed. “I’m trying to find a counter curse, but without knowing what curse Bellatrix used, that is almost impossible... I have some leaflets about male pregnancies, also one I think might be interesting for you.”  
  
“Five words,” Fenrir grumbled, looking disdainfully around the ward.  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“The trick your bitch used had five words,” Fenrir explained reluctantly, and the healer almost launched up from his chair.  
  
“Five words? Are you sure? There aren’t many spells that are that long.” He hastily sifted through the notes on his desk. “Could you have a look at this list and see if you recognise the words? Please?”  
  
“No.” Fenrir sent a brief glare over his shoulder at the healer. “You can read them out - without your stick - and I might tell you if something sounds familiar. I’m not interested in your wizard’s stuff.”  
  
“Thank you.” Rudolphus breathed a sigh of relief, reading the short list out slowly and clearly, looking up hopefully after every spell; Fenrir didn’t deign to turn around instead inspecting the charts and pictures on the walls.  
  
With another sigh, this time a disappointed one, Rudolphus folded the parchment. “Nonetheless, thank y--”  
  
“The third one,” Fenrir interrupted him.  
  
“ _Mens sana in corpore sano_?” the healer reassured himself, and Fenrir inclined his head slightly. “A healthy mind in a healthy body. It was once intended as a blessing, but if you change the wand movement just slightly it traps a healthy mind in a just as healthy body.”  
  
“Do I look as if I care?” Fenrir demanded rhetorically. “I thought not. Go get lost, wizard. Neither of us enjoys you being here.”  
  
Rudolphus still summoned a leaflet for Fenrir, putting it on the bed before he hastened to his desk and pulled out a thick tome from in between other thick tomes. He carefully leafed through the weathered pages and started to read the chapter about the curse with avid eyes.  
  
“I will have to ask Severus to brew the necessary antidote,” Rudolphus finally declared. “Would you excuse me for a few minutes?”  
  
“Gladly,” Fenrir retorted, happy when he was left alone.  
  
He walked over to the bed, taking up the leaflet and looking sceptically at the drawing of a very pregnant wizard and the fine printed words underneath. He didn’t have the concentration to read it now. Maybe he would ask Harry later.  
  
Speaking of Harry, he heard soft footsteps approach and busied himself with pretending to be busy. Judging by the soft chuckle that was his greeting, he had only moderate success. A slender, delicate body dropped in his lap and soft lips wandered all over his neck, to his pulse point and over his collarbone.  
  
“You smell nice,” Harry murmured, slipping his thin hands into Fenrir’s jeans. “Very nice.”  
  
“You can’t even smell me with all the antiseptics in the air,” Fenrir grumbled, but shifted slightly to accommodate Harry’s hands.  
  
“Well, then maybe I’m turned on by the antiseptics,” Harry replied, flicking his tongue over the werewolf’s nipples. “No, I think it must be you. Lay down.”  
  
“No,” Fenrir stated, annoyed that Harry expected him to go along with his mood swings and even dared to order him around.  
  
“Fine,” Harry said with a sigh, slipping from the bed and kneeling between Fenrir’s legs, quickly unzipping the werewolf’s trousers. “You know that it would have been more comfortable on the bed, don’t you, my Alpha?”  
  
Without further ado, he took Fenrir’s hardening length in his mouth, swirling his tongue around it and pushing forcefully against the silver-haired man’s hips to keep him from thrusting into his mouth as he traced the thick vein on the underside of Fenrir’s erection with his tongue before suckling lightly on the tip.  
  
The werewolf groaned, fisting his hands in Harry’s soft black hair, rocking into the younger man’s mouth despite the thin-fingered hands on his hips. Harry’s eyes fluttered up to him, pink lips closed lovingly around him, and he roared in pleasure, shooting his seed down Harry’s throat. The younger man swallowed everything readily, sucking him dry and lapping at the few drops that had escaped into the dark curls around Fenrir’s groin. Afterwards, Harry rested his cheek against Fenrir’s thigh, leaning comfortably against the werewolf’s left leg.  
  
Just as Fenrir wanted to suggest round two, the door handle was pushed down, but a leisurely swish of Harry’s hand locked it again. Harry straightened up reluctantly before tucking Fenrir back into his jeans, startling slightly when Fenrir lifted him up into his lap.  
  
“That was good, sweet little wizard,” Fenrir praised, turning Harry’s face for a kiss.  
  
He could taste himself on Harry’s tongue, and the perfect little body of his lover that melted against his made his erection return full force. A knock on the door interrupted them again, and Harry pulled back, waving at the door again to admit entrance to Rudolphus, Sirius and David.  
  
“Morning, Siri, morning, David,” Harry greeted the two slender men, smiling slightly. “What brings you here?”  
  
“I wanted to get you in the morning, remember?” Sirius answered. “When you weren’t in your rooms I thought you might have gone to Travers. But he didn’t know where you were either.”  
  
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you,” Harry mumbled. “I didn’t think you’d be awake so early.”  
  
Sirius shrugged. “It’s alright. Greyback, here so soon?”  
  
Fenrir didn’t care to reply instead burying his nose in Harry’s hair and blowing his breath over Harry neck. “When can we go, little white one?”  
  
“Voldemort said he’d have the portal ready by midday,” Harry offered. “Do you want to walk?”  
  
“I don’t think you’re up for it,” Fenrir replied. “So we’ll have to wait.”  
  
“Looks like it,” Harry said with a yawn, pushing his head under Fenrir’s chin. “Thanks.”  
  
“Hey.” Fenrir nudged him, almost dislodging Harry from his lap. “You can’t sleep now.”  
  
“Watch me,” Harry muttered. “I’m tired and I don’t feel sick anymore. Healer Lestrange can do the check-up while I catch up on my sleep. Right?”  
  
“I would prefer it if you were awake, but I will only need a few minutes,” Rudolphus said. “I want to find out if your body has made all the necessary changes and if we were able to normalise your blood pressure.”  
  
“Fine.” Harry sighed. “But I’m comfortable.”  
  
“If Mr. Greyback has no objections, I think I will be able to do it like this,” Rudolphus offered, approaching the bed and motioning for Fenrir to lean back so that Harry was not quite as cramped anymore. “I just asked Severus if there was a potion that could help against the nausea. While I think that it would be better to let it run its course, he is brewing some for you and if the nausea doesn’t pass within the next two weeks, I will prescribe you the potion so that you can gain weight and get all the necessary nutrients.”  
  
“Alright,” Harry agreed, sighing when the by now familiar magic entered his body, flowing through him like a fertile river. “Your hands are cold.”  
  
“I apologise.” The healer drew back and rubbed his slightly shaking hands against each other.   
  
“What’s wrong?” Harry demanded, sitting up. “Is something wrong?”  
  
“Nothing,” the healer tried to reassure him. “Your baby is perfectly fine, Mr. Potter.”  
  
But Harry wasn’t appeased. “What is wrong? You’re shaking. You don’t shake if nothing is the bloody matter.”  
  
“Shh, my little one,” Fenrir murmured. “That stupid wizard is just nervous about his brother, it has nothing to do with you or the cub.”  
  
“What is with your brother, Healer Lestrange?” Harry asked, calming at least marginally.  
  
“Mr. Greyback helped me identify the curse Bellatrix used,” Rudolphus replied. “Severus is brewing the antidote, but it will take at least two hours if everything goes right. I did not mean to worry you, Mr. Potter.”  
  
“Do you need to practise the counter curse?” Harry asked. “I don’t mind waiting.”  
  
“But I do,” Fenrir protested with a growl. “He can’t do anything now anyway.”  
  
Rudolphus nodded in agreement. “I do have to practise the counter curse, but you are my priority right now.”  
  
“If you’re sure,” Harry murmured. “But, no offense, I won’t let myself be examined by a nervous healer.”  
  
“I understand and I apologise,” the healer replied with a small sigh, drawing back. “Would you like me to get another healer, Mr. Potter?”  
  
“I don’t want another healer!” Harry protested. “I just want you to calm down. I don’t need another shaky magic wrecking havoc in my body. I’ll just take a nap now while you learn the counter curse.”  
  
“Then let us get you comfortable, Mr. Potter,” Rudolphus said, summoning several pillows to support Harry’s head and back and spread a blanket over the black-haired man. “Really try to sleep and call me immediately if you think something is amiss.”  
  
“Okay,” Harry murmured, pushing against Fenrir to have a bit more room on the bed before snuggling into his broad torso.  
  
“Sleep, my little one.” Fenrir kissed Harry’s temple, wrapping a heavy arm around the slender wizard’s waist. “You need the rest.”  
  
“You would know,” Harry muttered with slight sarcasm, closing his eyes.  
  
Fenrir grumbled, glaring at Sirius, who sat down on the chair next to the bed and took Harry’s hand to squeeze it tightly. David reluctantly sat down at the foot of the bed, startling when Harry put his feet in his lap until the latter smiled reassuringly at him.  
  
“Thanks for being here,” the young man said, feeling calmed and soothed by their presence.  
  
David pulled off Harry’s shoes and tugged the blanket around his feet so that he wouldn’t get cold. Harry sighed in contentment, soon drifting off to sleep, cradled against Fenrir’s body, who ran his fingers through his lover’s wild locks.  
  
Somewhere between then and the two hours when Snape entered the ward with the potion for Rabastan, Draco had come to join the slumber party, now sitting close to David, who allowed himself to lean against the blond.  
  
Snape sneered at them and quickly strode over to Rudolphus’ office knocking impatiently.  
  
“Severus, you have the potion?” Rudolphus’ face was a mask of hope and nervousness.  
  
The thin man nodded, showing the small vial of Prussian blue liquid. “Of course, any first year could have brewed that potion.” He glanced at Harry’s sleeping form. “Well, maybe that is not quite correct... If you want to test it, I made several portions.”  
  
“I trust you, Severus,” Rudolphus replied softly, putting his hand briefly on the Potions Master’s arm. “Thank you.”  
  
“Don’t,” Snape said brusquely. “Don’t thank me. Tell me if you need anything else.” He turned to go, but the healer stopped him.  
  
“Severus, there is something you could do. The counter curse needs to be spoken by several strong wizards or witches...”  
  
“How many?” Snape asked, halting his steps.  
  
“Seven.” Rudolphus sighed. “I have asked the Dark Lord, Lucius and Madam Pomfrey.”  
  
“That are five,” the thin man stated. “Who else?”  
  
Rudolphus looked down, shifting his weight from his right foot to his left. “I am going to ask Mr. Potter.”  
  
Snape’s eyes narrowed dangerously and Fenrir, who had followed their conversation with keen ears, growled, waking Harry.  
  
“What’s the matter?” Harry mumbled. “Why did you have to wake me, wolfie?”  
  
“You can go back to sleep,” Fenrir grumbled. “I’ll deal with this.”  
  
“With what?” Harry demanded, sitting up and looking around at the assembled wizards. “Oh, is the potion ready? That’s good, now you can do the spell, Healer Lestrange.”  
  
Fenrir growled again, and Harry batted his arm in irritation. “Tell me what’s bothering you or shut up, but don’t growl in my ear.”  
  
“The problem is that this so-called healer wants to use you to save his pathetic brother,” Fenrir said, glaring at the brown-haired man.  
  
“That is not at all the case, Mr. Greyback,” Rudolphus replied sharply, noticing that Harry was growing upset. “Mr. Potter, I was planning to ask you to assist in the healing of my brother, but if you say no, I will of course accept your decision.”  
  
“Bullshit,” Fenrir snapped, locking Harry in his arms. “You’re desperate enough to do anything, dare anything. You have no longer a mind for morals.”  
  
“Shush, big bad wolf,” Harry muttered. “I would really appreciate it if you let Healer Lestrange talk.”  
  
“I - ”   
  
“Shush,” Harry repeated, putting his hand over Fenrir’s mouth. “Healer Lestrange, what is this about the spell?”  
  
“It needs to be spoken by seven strong wizards,” Rudolphus explained, approaching the bed to soothe Harry with his healing magic and ignoring Fenrir’s bared teeth. “I wanted... rather I was hoping that you would be one of them.”  
  
“Because I’m powerful,” Harry muttered, pulling his knees up to his chest. “What about the baby? Could it be harmful?”  
  
“No, and if complications should arise, we will stop immediately,” Rudolphus promised. “You’re an exceptionally strong wizard, Mr. Potter, as you well know, but because you are pregnant your magic is also exceptionally pure and would therefore be of great help to my brother’s healing.”  
  
Harry’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and he bit his bottom lip. “For this to work, our magics have to be compatible. I know my magic is compatible with yours, and with Voldemort’s. Who else?”  
  
“Madam Pomfrey,” Rudolphus answered, and Harry nodded in agreement. “Severus and Lucius.”  
  
“Malfoy I can work with,” Harry stated. “But Snape and I... His magic gives me the creeps. No offense, Professor.”  
  
“The feeling is quite mutual, Potter.” Snape sneered. “But with five other magic bearers between us, our differences will be easily compensated.”  
  
“Four,” Harry corrected. “Who will be the last?”  
  
“I don’t know yet,” Rudolphus admitted. “There are few wizards who are powerful enough, who I would trust with my brother.”  
  
“What about David?” Harry asked, but the Death Eater snorted.  
  
“I might be powerful, but my magic is tainted like everything else,” David retorted derisively. “It’s no good for healing.”  
  
“That’s not true,” Draco protested. “You aren’t tainted.”  
  
“Whatever.” David shrugged as if he didn’t care. “I’m not good for this in any case. I have no aptitude for healing.”  
  
“Oh, sorry.” Harry looked apologetically at the grey-haired man. “What about Neville Longbottom? No, that might not be such a good idea, seeing as you tortured his parents into insanity.”  
  
“We regret it,” Rudolphus replied, but did not try to defend himself.  
  
“What about Professor McGonagall?” Harry suggested after thinking about it. “She isn’t the most powerful witch, but notably above average. And she’s good.”  
  
“Surprisingly, your suggestion has some merit,” Snape drawled. “Shall I ask her?”  
  
Rudolphus nodded gratefully, and the Potions Master left from the room. He turned back to Harry, who had calmed considerably under his touch. “If you feel up to it, I would like to practise the spell with you.”  
  
“Alright,” Harry replied, getting up on slightly shaky legs.  
  
“You can’t do this!” Fenrir protested, grasping Harry’s wrist. “Look at how weak you are; you can’t even stand properly. You aren’t strong enough for this. You need your energy for yourself.”  
  
Harry glared, tearing his arm out of his grip and tumbling against Rudolphus from the force of it. The healer stabilised him, sending wave after wave of soothing magic over Harry’s frayed nerves.  
  
“And you selfish bastard stop manipulating him!” Fenrir growled, shooting up from the bed and pulling Harry away from the healer.  
  
“Mr. Greyback - ”  
  
“Don’t you Mr. Greyback me,” Fenrir growled. “It’s clear how it is: You don’t give a shit about Harry, all you care about is getting your brother back. No risks, my arse. You just don’t care about them!”  
  
“Fen, really now, stop acting like a brat - ”  
  
“You said you didn’t want to be used anymore, Harry!” Fenrir interrupted him. “Well, you got to do something about it. If you just let them walk all over you and keel over to please them, it’s no bloody wonder they take advantage of you!”  
  
“This is who I am!” Harry shouted back. “This is who I am, Fen. If people ask me for help, I see no reason to turn them away just because you want me all to yourself. I wonder who is using me.”  
  
“What?” Fenrir asked in a gravelly whisper.  
  
“You heard me,” Harry replied just as quietly. “I want to do this. I’m not weak; my magic is strong enough, and if Healer Lestrange says that no harm will befall my baby, I choose to believe that.”  
  
“So we’re back to ‘accept it or leave’?” Fenrir demanded lowly, his eyes yellow with anger.  
  
“Seems like it,” Harry muttered. “I didn’t want to fight.”  
  
“Fine,” Fenrir growled, pressing a fleeting kiss to Harry’s forehead. “I’ll wait outside of the castle.”  
  
He turned away and jerked the door open, left. Harry slumped with a sigh, startling when Rudolphus put a hand on his shoulder.  
  
“I apologise for the grievance my request has caused you,” the healer offered. “I understand if you changed your mind.”  
  
“I don’t let my mind be changed by what others think,” Harry said tersely. “Tell me what I have to do.”  
  
Rudolphus first made Harry sit back down before he explained the complex workings of the spell that would hopefully untrap Rabastan’s mind from the prison Bellatrix’ curse had created. The potion would be necessary to unlock the prison doors, but the magical ritual they would perform would push the rusty doors open and guide Rabastan’s mind out. That was the theory at least.  
  
The spell wasn’t complicated, at least not for Harry who would only lend his magic and speak the words, “Mens sana et corpus sanum.” A healthy mind and a healthy body. The energy circle would have to be held for several minutes, but that was not what worried Harry. He had had to learn to keep his concentration and magic under control to the point of exhaustion, for days on end. But he was sceptical of the whole process, afraid of the magical backlash that would occur.  
  
“I promise you, Mr. Potter, I will take the brunt of the backlash,” Rudolphus answered when Harry voiced his concern. “And I will speak with Madam Pomfrey and the Dark Lord as well so that you won’t be hit by the released magic.”  
  
“Alright,” Harry murmured, running his hand through his hair. “You better not make me regret this, Healer.”  
  
“I won’t,” Rudolphus promised.  
  
“I know,” Harry said simply with a wry grin. “How much of my magic will you need?”  
  
“Less than a quarter,” Rudolphus stated confidently.  
  
“Alright.” Harry nodded, closing his eyes to concentrate his magic, locking the larger part of it in his core, reinforcing the shields around his baby; uncontrolled, unfocused magic could be a hundred times more dangerous than controlled magic.  
  
When he opened his eyes again, the other wizards and witches had arrived and Rudolphus led them into his brother’s room, arranging them in a circle. Harry stood between Rudolphus and Madam Pomfrey so that the two people most experienced in healing would be able to protect his baby. Snape administered the potion and then joined the circle, linking his hands with McGonagall and Voldemort.  
  
“ _Mens sana et corpus sanum!_ ” seven voices intoned, and Harry felt the pull on his magic, felt the energy that sizzled around him, a storm of colours, of sensations, of feelings. Harry did not dare open his eyes for fear of what he might see. He couldn’t afford to lose concentration; the shield around his baby mustn’t waver.  
  
Gradually, the flow of magic abated, slowly, carefully trickling back into their respective owners - An inhuman scream tore through the concentrated silence, and Harry tensed, slamming up his barriers because he expected the circle to break and his magic to rush back into him.   
  
But the feared for backlash did not occur. Rudolphus kept his concentration, resisting the urge to rush to his brother’s side to complete the healing ritual. He couldn’t guide Harry’s magic back where it belonged since Harry had blocked him completely and so he pulled the magic into himself. It was not the first time he had had to do this for a hysterical, panicked patient.  
  
“Thank you,” he finally declared, releasing Lucius’ hand to pull Harry to him with only a short glance at his brother, who had fallen unconscious again. “Mr. Potter, listen to my voice. Everything went well. If you would let your shields down, I would like to give you your magic back.”  
  
“You said this wouldn’t happen,” Harry muttered accusingly.  
  
“I didn’t happen,” Rudolphus replied softly. “You panicked.”  
  
“Oh,” Harry mumbled. “Really?”  
  
“Yes, really.” Rudolphus’ lips quirked a little as he held Harry up. “Would you now please let down your barriers?”  
  
“What about your brother?” Harry asked. “Did it work?”  
  
“It might have,” Rudolphus replied with another quick glance at his brother. “Madam Pomfrey is looking after him.”  
  
“Why aren’t you with him? Why are you with me?”  
  
“Because you trusted me. I’m not in the habit of breaking someone’s trust in me.”  
  
“You know that your brother doesn’t need you immediately,” Harry concluded. “You can feel him.”  
  
Rudolphus nodded in agreement, slowly releasing Harry’s magic. “There’s always a connection between a healer and his patient. And of course between brothers.”  
  
“Go to your brother.” Harry pushed him slightly away from himself. “I’ll be fine. My baby is fine?”  
  
“Yes, Mr. Potter,” Rudolphus stated confidently, passing his hand briefly over Harry’s stomach. “Everything is fine. I will be with you in a moment.”  
  
“’Kay,” Harry mumbled, leaving the room to join his godfather, David and Draco.  
  
Draco made some room for him on the bed, using this as an excuse to get closer to David. The Death Eater winced away slightly, but then relaxed, pulling Harry’s sock-clad feet back into his lap.  
  
“How did it go?”  
  
“Don’t know exactly. Not bad, I think,” Harry murmured with closed eyes, rubbing his scar. “I can feel you staring, Voldemort.”  
  
“I can imagine,” the Dark Lord replied.  
  
“Well, would you kindly stop?” Harry asked in annoyance. “Don’t you have a portal to erect?”  
  
“Potter, you’re behind the times. I already did that. The password is /The Catcher in the Rye/,” Voldemort informed him haughtily.  
  
“What?”  
  
/The Catcher in the Rye, by J.D. Salinger./ Voldemort arched his eyebrow. “Don’t you know anything, Potter?”  
  
“Why would you choose a password like that? No one but us can use it,” Harry protested.  
  
“And the problem with that is...?” Voldemort asked. “I won’t give just anyone free access to my headquarters.”  
  
“It’s a portal to Fenrir’s territory. He has the bloody right to know the password!” Harry argued.  
  
“No one is stopping you from telling him.” Voldemort smirked.  
  
Harry glared at him. “Change the password, Voldemort. You said you would make that portal for me, so damn well keep your promise.”  
  
“Your magic has changed,” Voldemort declared. “You have it well under control, though.”  
  
“Will you change the password?” Harry demanded.  
  
“It’s stronger, who would have thought that possible?” Voldemort continued his own conversation. “You will need an outlet.”  
  
“I need you to change the password,” Harry snapped with barely controlled annoyance.  
  
“If you say so. Tell me, Harry Potter, what are you planning to do with your life?” Voldemort said with gentle mockery.  
  
“Live it,” Harry retorted. “Forget it, Voldemort. I won’t work for you.”  
  
“I wasn’t insinuating that you should,” the Dark Lord replied simply. “But I would advise you to decide upon a career.”  
  
“I’m pregnant!”  
  
“Indeed,” Voldemort agreed. “But I would hope that this fact does not hinder you from using your brain, does it, Potter?”  
  
“Go to hell,” Harry muttered.  
  
“I’m afraid I won’t do you that favour,” Voldemort replied evenly. “Too much magic can be dangerous.”  
  
“For you, you mean!” the black-haired man scoffed.   
  
“That as well,” Voldemort admitted. “But I would not expect you to be convinced by worries about my health. You should talk with Rudolphus about this issue.”  
  
“There would be no issue if you stopped intriguing.” Harry insisted, crossing his arms over his chest. “Why do you have to annoy me? You could be charming to me for once as well and not only to your presidents and chancellors.”  
  
“Ah, but you wouldn’t trust me if I did that,” Voldemort replied.  
  
“I don’t trust you now, either,” Harry pointed out. “But I would still appreciate it.”  
  
“If you so please,” Voldemort answered graciously, his red eyes gleaming almost warmly. “What would you like the password to be?”  
  
“The same thing in English will be fine,” Harry replied, getting comfortable on the bed, rubbing his belly. “Is Diagon Alley safe?”  
  
“Certainly,” Voldemort stated. “Do you plan to do some shopping?”  
  
“I need some things,” Harry said in agreement. “For the baby and myself. And I want to get out some.”  
  
The Dark Lord nodded. “Understandable. I think the portal will facilitate this for you. Nonetheless, I would suggest that you don’t go without company.”  
  
Harry hummed noncommittally, tapping his fingers on his stomach. “What about Hogwarts?”  
  
“It’s almost finished. Would you like to see it sometime?”  
  
Harry grimaced. He had too many good and bad memories of that place and he wasn’t ready to handle them yet.  
  
“Well, maybe once it is actually finished,” Voldemort offered. “All the debris and dust cannot be good for you during your pregnancy. And for that to happen, I will have to get back to work. We cannot all stay in bed the entire day, after all.” He turned to go, but Harry slammed the door in front of him.  
  
“You forgot something. My magic. I want it back or did you really think I wouldn’t notice a part of it missing?” Harry arched a mocking eyebrow.  
  
Voldemort looked almost sheepish, and his shoulder lifted in a tiny shrug before he remembered that shrugging was in no way eloquent or adequate for a Dark Lord. “You did not expect me not to try.”  
  
It wasn’t an apology by any stretch of the imagination, and they both knew that, should the opportunity present itself, Voldemort would try it again. Harry snorted, looking expectantly at the pale, snake-like man until Voldemort released his magic. All of it. Voldemort nodded curtly and left the room for good.  
  
“Wow, the hell, if I understood what this was all about,” Sirius muttered. “Are you friends now or enemies still?”  
  
“The hell if I know,” Harry muttered in a return. “At least, he’s not trying to kill me anymore so I’ll take that as a positive sign... Hey, David, do I look that bad?”  
  
“What? Why?” The Death Eater looked up in surprise.   
  
Harry chuckled. “You’re massaging my feet. I must look bad if you think that’s necessary.”  
  
“Oh, nervous habit. I didn’t realise I was kneading your feet, sorry,” David murmured, releasing Harry’s feet.  
  
“I wasn’t complaining. It felt good,” Harry corrected him gently, smiling when David once again took his feet in his lap. “Pays of to get you nervous.”  
  
“Don’t take much of an effort,” David muttered, rubbing his thumbs over the soles of Harry’s feet. “When will you come back?”  
  
Harry shrugged. “Soon. Thursday at the latest. And you can contact me if you need me. I’ll give you the password to the portal.”  
  
“Thanks,” David murmured. “Draco wanted to invite you for dinner.”  
  
“Really? Don’t tell me you’re going to cook yourself, Malfoy,” Harry mocked.  
  
“Of course not,” Draco replied with a small scoff. “Don’t be ridiculous, Potter. Can we expect you Thursday for dinner?”  
  
“I guess,” Harry murmured, focusing on Rudolphus, who entered the room in that moment; the relieved smile on his face told everything. “How is your brother, Healer?”  
  
“He is lucid. A bit exhausted and panicked, but he is stable, and I’m hopeful,” Rudolphus offered. “And how are you feeling, Mr. Potter?”  
  
“Good enough,” Harry answered. “A bit tired. I think I’ve been here long enough.”  
  
“I will be quick,” Rudolphus promised, efficiently checking Harry’s and the baby’s vitals. “I will expect you at three o’clock on Thursday for our counselling session.”  
  
“Okay,” Harry said, getting up from the bed. “Good luck with your brother. Take care, David.”  
  
“You as well,” the grey-haired man replied, returning Harry’s hug a bit awkwardly.  
  
“The password is ‘The Catcher in the Rye’,” Harry whispered in his ear, waiting for David to nod that he had understood before he pulled back. “Let’s go, Siri.”  
  
ö_ö_ö  
  
Fenrir’s broad back was turned towards them as they approached, and he didn’t turn around even though he had to hear their footsteps. Harry wrapped his arms around the werewolf, resting his cheek against his back.   
  
“Finished?” Fenrir grumbled, watching Sirius disappear through the portal. “Are we done with our fight?”  
  
“Not quite,” Harry murmured, pressing a kiss between Fenrir’s shoulder blades. “You forgot the most important part of fighting.”  
  
“That would be?” the werewolf demanded, still not reacting to Harry’s touch.  
  
“What do you think? The make-up sex, of course. That’s the only reason I like fighting with you,” Harry murmured, tracing Fenrir’s abdominal muscles. “Don’t you want me?”  
  
“Stupid little thing, of course I want you,” Fenrir grumbled, pulling Harry in front of him. “But I don’t want to fight just to get you.”  
  
“Ah, but I’m worth fighting for, am I not?” Harry whispered seductively, rubbing his body against Fenrir’s. “Don’t try to resist, wolfie. You know you’re helpless against me.”  
  
“I’ll give you helpless,” Fenrir growled dangerously, pushing one leg between Harry’s.  
  
Harry groaned, wrapping his arms around Fenrir’s neck and his legs around his waist to take the pressure of his groin. The werewolf chuckled darkly, holding Harry to his chest.  
  
“Not out here, little moonlight.” Fenrir murmured in Harry’s ear. “It’s still too cold for you.”  
  
Harry pouted, but held onto Fenrir when the werewolf walked towards the portal. The werewolf looked at the stone arch in distrust. The air between the columns shimmered in a myriad of soap bubble-like colours.  
  
“The Catcher in the Rye,” Harry murmured, and the air changed to show an image of the pack. “Walk through, wolfie. I’m with you, I’ll protect you.”  
  
Fenrir nipped Harry’s neck at the teasing tone, but stepped through the portal, surprised that he felt nothing but a soft shiver of magic.  
  
“Not that bad, huh?” Harry asked softly, but Fenrir only grunted; Harry chuckled, brushing a kiss over Fenrir’s cheek. “How about we’ll meet in half an hour to finish our fight?”  
  
“No, now,” Fenrir demanded, striding quickly towards their hut, but he had obviously not counted on the rest of the pack and before he had even crossed the clearing halfway, they were surrounded by the other werewolves and Sirius.  
  
Harry laughed. “Half an hour, my Alpha.” He slipped from Fenrir’s hold to accept the enthusiastic hug Chetan gave him.


	26. Fidelity

As much as Harry tried to deny it and defend himself against it, he was getting used to living with Fenrir’s pack. Over the following week, he got to know all of them, except for Lin, who kept her distance from him if not from Fenrir, and he was appreciating them more and more.  
  
Chetan was by far his favourite werewolf, after Remus and Fenrir of course. Even though he was about the same age as Harry’s godfathers, he was much more carefree and sometimes childish. To the rest of the pack, he was the cub, the one they had brought up together, mothered and pampered and spoilt, and he still had the bonus and took advantage of it. After Remus, he was the lowest in the hierarchy, but he didn’t seem to mind and he was the one who showed Harry how easy and enjoyable it was to let others take care of you.  
  
Harry still wasn’t happy with his forced helplessness, the dependency, the need to take it easy, and there were times when he felt absolutely miserable, especially when Fenrir thought it necessary to be overprotective and domineering. Like now.  
  
He glared angrily at the Alpha, kicking him in the stomach. “I don’t need another fucking blanket! I don’t want to sit closer to the fire! And I hope for you that you’re not insinuating that I’m fat!”  
  
“What? I didn’t say that,” Fenrir protested.  
  
“You said I was pregnant!” Harry snapped.  
  
“Well, according to my information, you are,” Fenrir argued tersely, receiving another glare. “I don’t see the problem.”  
  
“Do you ever?” Harry snapped.  
  
“Not often, I guess,” Fenrir admitted since he had learned to avoid fights by agreeing with Harry. “So you’re not cold.”  
  
Harry rolled his eyes. “If I were cold I would be very well able to get a blanket or move closer to the fire on my own. Thank you.”  
  
Fenrir nipped his neck carefully before burying his nose in Harry’s soft hair. Harry relaxed against the werewolf, grateful for the warmth his strong body provided because even though the snow had melted, the air was still rather fresh.  
  
It was easy to fall into a pleasant routine with Fenrir. He would wake up, wrapped up in Fenrir’s arms or curled up over his stomach, they would have breakfast, sex, and quarrels, make up, have lunch, go for a walk, take a bath, quarrel, have sex and fall asleep together. Not necessarily in that order or frequency. But Harry was reasonably content.  
  
When he wasn’t with Fenrir, he passed his time in the company of his godfathers or Chetan or even Sawyer, who had begun treating him with gruff politeness as if he didn’t quite know how to be kind to a human but still wanted to try. Maya was also very nice and considerate, always asking if he needed something and what he wanted to eat, fulfilling his special requests. But there was only so much mothering he could tolerate.  
  
He sometimes took refuge in Tristan’s company. The brown-haired werewolf was quiet and calm. Harry knew that with him he wouldn’t be forced to make conversation, but would still not be completely alone.  
  
Bryan was reticent and at times alarmingly weak and sick. Harry tried to keep his distance so that he wouldn’t once again lose someone close to him.  
  
“Little one?” Fenrir murmured, jostling him slightly. “You want me to come with you for your check-up?”  
  
“Do you want to?” Harry asked softly. “I’m not sure it’ll be very interesting. Just the usual and counselling. And David and Malfoy invited me to dinner afterwards.”  
  
“Again?” Fenrir grumbled. “You had dinner with them only last week. What do they want with you?”  
  
Harry shrugged. “They didn’t say. I have a feeling they got cold feet the last time and decided to ask or tell me whatever they wanted to today.”  
  
The werewolf grunted, still with his nose in Harry’s inky tresses, and Harry chuckled at the warm whoosh of breath hit his skin. “So you don’t need me?”  
  
“Hm? I’ll be fine, sure,” Harry agreed, slipping one hand in a tear in Fenrir’s jeans with an impish grin.  
  
“Your hands are cold.” Fenrir commented. “Are you sure you don’t want to move closer to the fire?”  
  
Harry all but groaned, but instead chose to get up, supporting his belly with one hand. “I’ll be going then, if you’re not interested.”  
  
“Little white one, wait.” Fenrir got up as well, slinging his arms around Harry. “You know that I’m interested.”  
  
“Well, too bad,” Harry groused, freeing himself. “Now I’m not interested anymore. You’ll have to wait until I come back.”  
  
“Then I’ll be waiting, my beautiful moonlight,” Fenrir murmured, brushing a kiss over Harry’s lips. “Impatiently.”  
  
Harry snorted, batted Fenrir’s audacious hands away. “Then get started with that and maybe, just maybe, I’ll try to hurry.”  
  
Fenrir smirked, approaching Harry again and embracing him tenderly. “Just one moment longer, my pretty little thing. I intend to give you an incentive to hurry back here.”  
  
With that, he tilted Harry back in his arms, engaging him in a possessive kiss that left the younger man without breath. When they separated again, Harry whimpered in protest, glaring at the werewolf. Fenrir only laughed, slapping Harry’s bottom, and turned away.  
  
“What? And now you leave?!” Harry demanded, stomping his foot in irritation. “You can’t be fucking serious! Fenrir!”  
  
“Hurry, sweet human.” Fenrir smirked at Harry’s frustrated tone. “And you might get back to more of that.”  
  
He walked away before Harry’s unconscious pout could change his mind, but still listened keenly for Harry’s annoyed huff and his quiet steps towards the portal before his sweet smell faded abruptly.  
  
Chetan approached him with a large grin, pushing under Fenrir’s arm. “The little one gone? Does that mean we can start with the nursery?”  
  
Fenrir nodded, squeezing the younger werewolf’s shoulder. “Where’s Remus, cub? He’ll have to do some magic trick to hide the addition to our hut.”  
  
“I’m here, Alpha,” Remus called from where he was doing the dishes with Sirius. “We can do a Disillusionment Charm, but I’m afraid Harry might walk into it by accident.”  
  
“Don’t worry, cub,” Fenrir grumbled. “We’ll gather all the material first and pile it somewhere in the forest Harry doesn’t go.”  
  
“So we’ll cut some more logs?” Sawyer, who had sat next to Remus, asked, fluidly rolling to his feet. “We should also get some glass planes, shouldn’t we?”  
  
“I know,” Fenrir agreed. “But we’ll cut the wood first, built the hut and then get glass and maybe some baby furniture from the wizards or Muggles. Let’s get started.”  
  
They gathered their tools in a flurry of movement, only Maya staying behind to look after Bryan, whose health had once again lapsed. Even Sirius followed them, though he earned many a hostile look especially from Lin, whose motivation that had not been strong to begin with depleted quickly.  
  
She was not at all inclined to do anything for that measly human or for his spawn, but she wisely kept her tongue. She didn’t like Harry, who complicated everything for the pack. Now, it was always Harry here, Harry there, Harry this, Harry that. Be careful with the human! Don’t eat your meat in front of Harry or he will get sick! Fetch another blanket! Do this! Don’t do that! And she wasn’t a fucking waitress! She didn’t mind helping out among the pack, but that was because she knew that if she ever needed anything they would gladly return the favour. Now, she wasn’t so sure anymore. The Alpha still cared for the pack, certainly, she wouldn’t dare to think otherwise, but Harry occupied a disproportionally big part of his time. Lin would admit to herself, if only to herself, that she was jealous. Jealous that Fenrir had chosen Harry over her. Jealous that Harry was now the centre of attention. Jealous, too, that he would be able to give the Alpha a child, something that she would never be able to. It wasn’t fair. No one could expect her to be happy about having to build a nursery for Harry and the baby. No one did. No one noticed. Most of all not Fenrir. She scowled and slammed her axe violently into the truck of a nearby tree.  
  
With the combined strength and skill of the werewolves, they soon had several trees felled, all the logs measured and cut to the right length. Tristan and Remus had already started to beat notches in some of the woods so that they would fit together exactly and hold secure even against strong wind.  
  
At nightfall, Fenrir called a halt to their work, supervising Remus and Sirius as they carefully hid the cut wood under thick Disillusionment Charms even though he had no idea what exactly they were doing. But he felt the magic throbbing under the thin layer of faked reality.  
  
“Make sure that Harry doesn’t go here,” he warned the others, putting a heavy hand on Remus’ neck in something like a thank you.  
  
The younger werewolf relaxed and when Fenrir noticed Remus’ need of affection, he pulled him into a strong embrace, carding his fingers through the greying hair. “Tired, cub?”  
  
“A little,” Remus admitted.  
  
“You can rest now. Do you think Harry will like this?” Fenrir murmured, also accepting Chetan in his arms.  
  
Remus nodded. “Do you think... Paddy and I still have some of Harry’s baby things in our vaults. I think he would like them for his own child.”  
  
Fenrir grunted. “You can get those things when we get the glass and furniture. Everything will be ready for Harry’s surprise.”  
  
“Thank you, Alpha,” Remus smiled carefully up at him, trying to pull back when Chetan revealed his incisors in a large grin and butted their noses.  
  
“Relax, Remus,” Chetan murmured. “How about you stay with me and Sawyer tonight? You can even bring your mutt.”  
  
“His name is Sirius,” Remus defended in a soft voice.  
  
“Hm, I realise.” Chetan smirked, before turning away from Remus. “Hey, mutt! You and Remus are sleeping in our hut today.”  
  
Sirius looked up, glancing at Remus. “You want to, Moony? I wouldn’t mind.”  
  
“I’d like that,” Remus agreed.  
  
“Then it’s settled,” Chetan declared happily, butting Remus’ nose again before burying back against Fenrir’s chest. “Alpha, will you come as well. Please?”  
  
Fenrir sighed, looking at the hopeful faces of his pack. Maybe he had neglected them with all the attention Harry needed? He glanced at Lin, who had her back turned towards him.  
  
“We’ll see, cub. It depends on how Harry’s check-up goes. I don’t want to put him under stress or pressure, okay?” he explained.  
  
“Sure.” Chetan nodded readily. “I’m a little worried about him. He doesn’t look... a little frail, don’t you think? You don’t think that this pregnancy is too much for him, do you?” Chetan asked, nervousness clear in his voice and in his expression.  
  
“Harry is stronger than even I give him credit for,” Fenrir murmured, to soothe both Chetan and himself. “We all have to look out for him, but he’ll be fine. And I’ll try to have more time for you.”  
  
Fenrir nipped Chetan’s neck before releasing him and Remus, straightening and stretching his muscles. He then followed the enticing scent of Maya’s cooking back to their clearing and watched his family. He was touched by Chetan’s concern for Harry and also by the fact that they had all offered their help for adding the nursery to their hut.  
  
His lips quirked into a soft smile as he thought about how Harry would react to their surprise. This would show him that he was accepted, that they all cared, that he belonged with them and that he was expected to stay.  
  
He walked over to his Beta, who was lying close to the fire under a heavy bear fur, a feverish sheen on his forehead. “How’re you, Bryan?” he asked gently, helping the old werewolf to sit up, propping him up against his chest.  
  
The other werewolf coughed, a wretched sound that tore at Fenrir’s ears and cut into his heart. “I hope to see the birth of your child, Alpha,” Bryan finally whispered, coughed again. “Alpha...”  
  
“Shh, don’t speak. Preserve your strength,” Fenrir admonished him, stabilising his shivering body. “You’ll need it to hold the baby.”  
  
“You’ve become a strong Alpha,” Bryan whispered. “I can leave them in your hands now.”  
  
“Don’t talk like that!” Fenrir growled, cuffing the white-haired werewolf around the ears. “No one is leaving. I need you and the pack needs you, and I decide that you stay. Understood, cub?”  
  
Bryan coughed a breathless laugh. “There is one lesson I still have to teach you and that is that even Alphas don’t always get their way.”  
  
“That was the very first lesson you taught me,” Fenrir grumbled, grasping the older werewolf tight around the waist. “But this is not up for debate. You won’t die.”  
  
“As you command, my Alpha,” Bryan replied, still with a wheezing laugh in his voice.  
  
“Not you, too,” Fenrir complained. “I get enough of that mocking tone from Harry.”  
  
“A nice little tyke you got yourself with him,” Bryan smirked, though it was a bit weak and accompanied by another cough. “He’ll be good for you; he’ll always keep you on your toes... Don’t try to break him, Fenrir. He’ll never be quite like us.”  
  
Fenrir grunted, but didn’t reply because Maya had finished cooking and was handing out loaves of bread and meat. For Bryan, she had made a meat broth, and Fenrir helped his weakened pack member to slurp it down before he turned to his own meal.  
  
ö_ö_ö  
  
Soft darkness was falling though it was not as late as Fenrir had expected when Harry returned. Fenrir walked towards the slender man with a happy smile, but when he welcomed Harry with a kiss and a hug he noticed the tension in the slender body.  
  
“What is wrong, my beautiful human?” Fenrir murmured, trailing his fingers along Harry’s neck. “Is something wrong with the baby? Are you okay?”  
  
Harry released a long breath, but nodded. “We’re both fine. I didn’t mean to worry you, but I have to tell you something.”  
  
Fenrir furrowed his brow, holding Harry away from him to inspect him. When he couldn’t find any injuries and decided that Harry, despite looking strained and worried, seemed over all healthy, he lead Harry to their hut, softly closing the door behind him.  
  
“The last time you were so worried, you told me that you’re pregnant,” Fenrir observed as Harry began to pace and twist his hands. “That can’t be it today, but has it to do with that?”  
  
“No, it has nothing to do with the pregnancy,” Harry murmured, glancing nervously at the werewolf. “Promise me not to overreact?”  
  
“I never overreact,” Fenrir declared, which earned him an incredulous look from green eyes. “I don’t.”  
  
Harry sighed, stopped abruptly in his pacing. “David and Malfoy got down to asking me today what they were planning to...  
  
“And that would be?” Fenrir growled testily, imagining all the vile things the two wizards could have come up with; no wonder, Harry was so upset. “Did they want you to help with a magic trick? You can forget it if it’s dangerous. I won’t have you risking the baby’s or your health.”  
  
“It has nothing to do with magic,” Harry replied, seemingly growing even more nervous. “It has more to do with... their relationship?”  
  
“What? What has that to do with you?” Fenrir demanded. “Don’t tell me they need you to chaperone their dates!”  
  
“Ehm, no, it’s not like that.” Harry shifted fearfully. “David... They have been becoming closer, physically as well. But David doesn’t feel secure enough to... go the next step with Malfoy. He asked me to go it with him.”  
  
Fenrir’s golden eyes narrowed as he sorted out Harry’s jumbled confession. Then he roared furiously, grasping Harry by the shoulders and shaking him angrily.  
  
“Fen,” Harry whispered, trying to pry his hands away from him. “It’s not that bad.”  
  
“Not that bad,” Fenrir growled, his fingernails digging into Harry’s shoulders. “It would be bad enough even if you had said no. But I doubt you had that much decency, you slut.”  
  
Now Harry’s eyes narrowed as well, brightening with an angry fire at the accusation as he spat, “I didn’t see a reason to say no and I seriously wonder what right you claim to have to insult me like this. It’s not any of your business what I do in my free time and if I wanted to do this for David, in view of our friendship, it has nothing to do with you. It’s my body; I can share it with whomever I please.”  
  
The werewolf growled. “Of course you didn’t even think of me, did you? And if I catch your disease it’s the price I pay, right? You’re nothing but a... a **whore** , you spread your legs for anyone. Did Malfoy watch or did you allow him a go as well? You reek of their come, you disgust me.”  
  
“Then let me go,” Harry hissed, struggling against him. “You wouldn’t want to touch someone as filthy as me.”  
  
“What? Werewolf cock suddenly not good enough for you anymore?” Fenrir mocked, grasping Harry’s ass and squeezing it painfully. “Maybe I want to taste my bitch as well to erase their traces from you. Tell me, how much do I have to pay for, say, one hour?”  
  
“I’m unaffordable,” Harry snapped, trying to kick the werewolf in the solar plexus.  
  
Fenrir laughed harshly, roughly fondling the younger man and pushing him down on their sleeping furs despite Harry struggling and trying to twist away from him. When Fenrir’s hand brushed over Harry’s extended stomach, his yellow eyes clouded over with new anger and a new suspicion. “It’s not even mine, is it? All this time, I thought you were so brave and such a fucking **miracle** to bear my child, but you played me, didn’t you? I was just a convenient fool who would provide for you while you fucked yourself through others’ beds. Whose child is it, huh? Do you even know his name?!”  
  
“Keep my child out of this!” Harry glared at him. “You damn well saw the baby on the screen, you saw how it changed. It’s yours, and you know it! But not to worry, I won’t burden you with having to be a father anymore. This is such a handy excuse for you, isn’t it? Maybe the baby isn’t yours, so the responsibility isn’t yours, either. Of course, you’d jump at that chance out,” the black-haired man mocked. “You’re a coward, Greyback. Let me go!”  
  
“So that you can return to them for another round?” Fenrir taunted. “I think not. I’ll make sure you stay, whether you want to or not. You’re mine, my bitch.” A maniac gleam had entered his eyes and now he cruelly jerked Harry’s head up and to the side by the hair, lowering his mouth to the soft white skin of Harry’s neck. “This is long overdue. We’ll see whose bitch you are after this. I’ll handle the responsibility when you’re nothing but my puppet, don’t worry.”  
  
“Fen,” Harry whispered, going rigid in the stronger man’s arms. “Fen, you don’t want to do this. Think of the baby, please...”  
  
“Did you think of the baby when you were moaning underneath them and crying for them to go harder and faster?” Fenrir sneered, his incisors lengthening. “You can play dead all you want, bitch, it won’t help you this time. I know your tricks.”  
  
“Fen, please.” Harry sobbed, pushing in vain against the werewolf. “Stop, please. It’s not - ”  
  
“Not that bad?” Fenrir demanded sarcastically, his hot breath ghosting over Harry’s sweaty skin. “How long it has been since I smelled your fear, bitch. I’ll make sure to smell it for a long time.”  
  
Harry shuddered convulsively, and Fenrir felt a surge of magic rage against him before he sank his teeth into the smooth skin. A pitiful yowl reached his ears as he tasted blood on his tongue and felt soft hair on his lips. In disgust, he pushed the white wolf away from him. Harry lay motionless on the furs, his eyes closed and his tongue lolling out of his mouth. Fenrir sneered.  
  
“Bitch,” he muttered, kicking Harry’s hindleg in contempt, turned and left the hut, locking it behind him. The lock on the outside was only used on the full moon to keep the adventuresome werewolves away from their things, but now it would keep Harry in. He wouldn’t escape this time.  
  
Stupid, filthy human! He was done with being played, with being considerate and understanding and patient. It was clear why that unfaithful wizard hadn’t wanted a committed relationship. He was nothing but a whore and Fenrir one of his clients. He should have done this much sooner, he had been far too lenient, far too blind.  
  
“Alpha.” He ignored Chetan, stalking past him.  
  
The cheek of that human! He hadn’t expected much of Harry, but at least that much respect. He could expect that, couldn’t he? Obviously, what they had shared had meant nothing to Harry, absolutely nothing. Harry was a whore, a slut, a bitch. Not even Fenrir’s bitch anymore. But he would resolve that. If it hadn’t worked now, he would try again, bite that wizard until his skin was a myriad of werewolf bites. He startled slightly when an image of Harry’s scarred back flitted in front of his eyes, but then, the wizard had asked for it, hadn’t he?  
  
His eyes narrowed again, and he strode out more quickly, diving into the darkness of the forest. All this talk about getting rid of his prejudices, of seeing Harry as an individual. He snorted. Now he saw Harry and he didn’t like what he was seeing. Sure, Harry was beautiful on the outside, but on the inside he was just as ugly as all those other humans.  
  
And to think that his pack liked him now. How misguided he had been to force his pack to accept a wizard, just because he had been in love with a tight ass. Harry wasn’t a miracle, he wasn’t anything special. Still, he couldn’t get it into his head that he had misjudged Harry so completely. Everything had gone so well. He had thought that Harry had finally come to like the life with the pack and Fenrir. He had even considered starting another conversation about Harry’s feelings and what he was willing to give him. Now he had to bury all those hopes. He would never have more of Harry, but neither would anyone else. If Harry wanted to bargain with his body, well, Fenrir was up for the deal. And after the baby -  
  
Goddess, what had he done!? He halted abruptly, all colour draining from his face as the full impact of his actions tonight hit him. He had bit Harry. He had bit Harry, who was pregnant. If Harry hadn’t transformed soon enough, it meant that Harry would become a werewolf with the next full moon. Fenrir had signed the younger man’s death warrant and their child’s as well. Whatever Harry had done, and he was still furious at the wizard’s betrayal, Fenrir had no right to destroy the life of their innocent child.  
  
He groaned and berated himself as he hastened back. But he doubted that Harry would have hung around. He hoped that Harry had used magic to open the door and had gone through the portal to find that healer. This way he would have more time to calm down and then, once calm, he would have to apologise even though he grit his teeth at that thought. But he wanted to be part of his child’s life, if not of Harry’s.  
  
His prayers were not answered. The door was still locked, though the rest of his pack was standing around it, undecided what to do. He bared his teeth at them, and they scattered. It seemed that Lin had been the one who had told the others to respect Fenrir’s privacy. When he opened the door, cautiously and slowly, almost expecting shoes or other things to fly towards him, his nose was assaulted by the strong scent of blood. Had he bit that deep? He hadn’t hit a main artery, had he? Goddess, that couldn’t be!  
  
Harry lay in the same position he had left him, prone on his side with slightly bend legs and a puddle of dark red blood under his pale face. The only thing that had changed was that Harry had changed into human form. At the sight, Fenrir felt a huge wave of remorse crash over him and dropped to his knees next to the unconscious form of his lover.  
  
“Harry,” he whispered, pushing the hair away from the younger man’s neck to see the damage his rage had done; it looked horribly deep and was still bleeding. Fenrir felt mildly nauseous. “Harry, can you hear me?” He got no reply and so he carefully gathered the slight wizard in his arms, glad to at least feel the barest of breaths on his neck. “Don’t worry, we’ll fix this and then you can hex me, yes? Just hang on.”  
  
He made sure to support Harry’s belly and held the young human with all due tenderness. He should never have lost his temper, he realised that now. Harry had cheated on him, but what he had done was worse than rape.  
  
“Alpha?”  
  
“I have to get Harry to a healer. You all stay here. You, too, Remus,” Fenrir said, avoiding the eyes of Harry’s godfathers. He shielded the young man as best as he could and stepped past them.  
  
“But - ”  
  
“I said no, Remus,” Fenrir snapped and stepped through the portal.


	27. All the Facts

As Fenrir almost ran up to the imposing castle, he time and time again feared that Harry had stopped breathing and he had to stop and lean close to Harry’s mouth until he felt a small puff of breath. Then he hastened on again.  
  
“Lestrange,” he barked, very carefully depositing Harry on one of the clean white beds, and pressed his fingers to the bite wound to stem the blood flow. “Lestrange, dammit, get here now!”  
  
“What is the matter?” the Healer demanded as he entered the room in brown pyjama pants and a hastily thrown-on robe. “Sweet Merlin, step away, Mr. Greyback, get me those bandages on the shelf near the window sill.”  
  
Fenrir complied, glad to be doing something. Glad to be forced to look away from Harry’s bloody neck. Seeing Harry like this and knowing that it was his fault caused him to feel strangely weak. Rudolphus gently cleaned the deep wound, dribbling a potent Healing Potion on it before dressing it diligently. After he had checked Harry’s vitals as well, he administered a Blood Replenishing Potion, massaging Harry’s throat to make him swallow.  
  
“Will he... be okay?” Fenrir asked, hesitantly reaching out to take Harry’s hand in his.  
  
“He lost a lot of blood, which can be detrimental in his condition, but I was able to stabilise him,” Rudolphus replied. “The baby was not harmed. Would you kindly tell me what happened? I assume I don’t have to tell you that Mr. Potter should be protected from any wild animals. An infection in his state is the last thing we want.”  
  
“Can you check if he is a werewolf?” Fenrir asked, ignoring the question posed and the shocked look on the Healer’s face.  
  
Rudolphus quickly extracted his wand again, running it along the length of Harry’s body. “You should have informed me that this is a werewolf’s bite. I should have used a different Healing Potion.”  
  
“Is he a werewolf?”  
  
“No, though I cannot tell you why. It seems that the poison was neutralised before it could contaminate the blood stream,” Rudolphus stated.  
  
Fenrir couldn’t find it in him to be offended, closing his eyes in relief. “Is the potion you used bad for Harry?” he then demanded.  
  
“No, Mr. Greyback, but another potion would have minimised the scarring. What happened, Mr. Greyback?” Fenrir made no move to answer, and the healer scowled. “If you had brought Mr. Potter here even one minute later, Mr. Greyback, I would not have been able to do anything for him. I realise that you want to have Mr. Potter with you, but I cannot answer for him being with your pack if he is attacked there.”  
  
“This won’t happen again,” Fenrir growled. “Why doesn’t he wake up?”  
  
“I would prefer to let him rest for a bit longer,” Rudolphus stated, pulling a blanket over Harry’s nude form before getting up. “I must ask you to leave, Mr. Greyback.”  
  
“What?!” Fenrir demanded, glaring at the healer, who had drawn his wand.  
  
“Since you refuse to tell me what exactly happened to put Mr. Potter in this state, I have to assume that you were somehow involved and I cannot, in good conscience, leave an unconscious patient alone with his potential attacker,” Rudolphus explained evenly. “I need to get several potions from Severus, so I demand that you wait outside or accompany me. I will not leave you alone with Mr. Potter.”  
  
Fenrir growled menacingly, but the healer didn’t appear threatened, nodding towards the door. “Mr. Greyback, if you please? Mr. Potter will not come to any harm, even without your supervision, and the sooner you leave the sooner you will be able to return.”  
  
Fenrir narrowed his eyes in contemplation, but though he would have argued more, he realised that he did not have the right cards to win. Harry was fast asleep, anyway, and even if he wasn’t, would he want to see him? Hardly.  
  
“Fine, I’ll wait outside.”  
  
Rudolphus relaxed minutely as Fenrir got up and murmured his usual Monitoring Charm over Harry. While Fenrir already left the Healer’s Ward, Rudolphus briefly looked in on his brother to make sure that he was still sleeping peacefully.  
  
Fenrir was leaning casually against the wall next to the door, watching him suspiciously as he locked the door with a spell. “I will return shortly.”  
  
The werewolf merely grunted. When the healer had left, Fenrir punched the wall in anger, almost breaking the bones of his hand with the force of it, but instead leaving cracks in the stone. His anger at Harry had been replaced almost completely by an overpowering anger at himself. He had always prided himself on being a werewolf, had stressed the superiority of his race, but since he had met Harry he had always used lycanthropy as a threat if Harry didn’t behave.   
  
Harry hadn’t behaved. Fenrir wasn’t willing to forgive Harry’s infidelity, but he was aware that what he had done was infinitely worse. He had violated Harry and risked the lives of his lover and his child. He was sure that Harry’s betrayal had never aimed to hurt him. He couldn’t say the same about his own actions. He groaned. He could not hope that Harry would ever forgive him. He could not even hope that he himself would be able to forgive himself. He could still taste Harry’s blood in his mouth, and its meaning disgusted him.  
  
But what was done was done, and self-pity wouldn’t amount to anything other than a headache. Harry wouldn’t want him in his life anymore, that much was clear to Fenrir, but Harry still needed him and so he would at least convince him to return with him to the pack. From there, he could work on making Harry forgive him. He closed his eyes briefly as another wave of guilt rolled over him. How could he do this?  
  
Jealousy. The thought of his little moonlight with another man, with any other man, drove him flaming mad with rage. How could Harry do? Sure, they hadn’t exactly had a committed relationship, but Fenrir had at least considered it an exclusive one. Why would Harry do this to him? A friendly turn, he scoffed angrily at the thought. If Harry thought this had all been just a favour between friends, he was more naive than Fenrir had given him credit for. Harry had allowed Travers to fuck him, for Goddess’ Sake! Yet, Fenrir couldn’t quite grasp it. Harry had always teased and flirted with him, but had never shown any interest in someone else. Harry had shared his body as freely as a cooking recipe. Didn’t Harry realise how intimate having sex was? He groaned, thumping his head back against the wall. Damn that cub!  
  
Firm steps announced the arrival of not one, but three people and Fenrir schooled his features into calm boredom. However, when he caught a whiff of their scent, he growled darkly, pushing away from the wall before he soundlessly crept towards them. His upper lip curled into a snarl as he made out his prey, and he lunged at the unsuspecting wizard, pummelling him to the floor.  
  
Words escaped him as he let out his rage on the thin wizard, bruising the pale skin and matting the grey hair with blood. Eventually, when the two other wizards managed to pull him away from his victim, the skin on his knuckles had split open, but his rage still hadn’t faded.  
  
“I’ll fucking kill you,” Fenrir growled, struggling against the silver-infused bonds that were holding him back. “I’ll fucking kill you for touching Harry.”  
  
David only whimpered, pulling completely into himself as he pressed into a corner, away from Fenrir and even Draco. Finally, Rudolphus managed to speak a Sleeping Charm over the beaten Death Eater and to levitate him into the Healer’s Ward.   
  
Fenrir curiously watched the Malfoy boy approach him, two angry red blots on his cheeks on his otherwise pale face. A little closer and he could... Yes! His forehead connected with a satisfying crunch with Malfoy’s aristocratic nose.  
  
“Fuck!” Draco cursed, blood running through the fingers of the hand that had moved to cup his nose; he hissed in pain and followed Rudolphus.  
  
When Rudolphus came back out to release him from his bindings, Fenrir growled at him, but didn’t do anything more for fear of not being admitted into the room. He didn’t listen to the healer’s warning.   
  
David had been patched up and was sitting next to Harry on the bed, well away from Draco, a shaking hand resting on Harry’s cheek. Fenrir glared at him, baring his sharp teeth and crouching down aggressively. The Death Eater winced, but instead of shying away tightened his arms protectively around the young Animagus.  
  
“You can hurt me all you want, but Harry doesn’t deserve this!” he spat.  
  
Fenrir sneered at him, feeling two wizards’ sticks pointed at his back. “I’ll get you alone, you can wait for it,” he growled. “And then I’ll remove every appendage, every limb and every patch of skin with which you might have touched Harry.”  
  
The mismatched eyes twitched nervously. “Go ahead, no one is stopping you.”  
  
“David!” Draco exclaimed with angry confusion. “Stop this! Stop acting like a bloody Gryffindor for absolutely no reason!”  
  
Fenrir snarled viciously at him. “No reason? Ah, perhaps that perverted human didn’t get around to telling you how he fucked what is mine.”  
  
“You bastard.” Draco’s face actually twisted into a grimace of contempt. “For your information, Harry turned us down. David never touched him.”  
  
Fenrir felt as if someone had pulled the floor out from under him, as if he had been dropped into a pool of ice-cold water, cutting off his air-supply. Briefly his vision went black as all the horrid shades of his actions flashed through his mind. Innocent. Harry had denied them. Never cheated on him. Goddess, what had he done?  
  
“What? But he said...” Fenrir murmured helplessly, looking at the pale youth in David’s arms. “Why would he have lied? This can’t be true.”  
  
Harry was still unconscious; the bandage where neck connected with shoulder was red with blood.   
  
“Harry told us that he would gladly help us any other way because this was a stupid idea, **my** stupid idea, and if David wasn’t ready, he wasn’t ready and I should damn well respect that. Full stop,” Draco explained condescendingly, gently resting his hands on David’s shoulders.  
  
The werewolf buried his face in his hands, digging his fingernails into his scalp. What had he done?  
  
“Why doesn’t he wake up?” Fenrir whispered after a long self-torturous silence.   
  
Rudolphus furrowed his brow, brandishing his wand and muttering a spell under his breath. His expression only darkened, and he whispered another charm. A tremor went through Harry’s body, and his eyes fluttered open.  
  
“Moonlight?” Fenrir whispered, his voice hoarse with trepidation.  
  
Harry didn’t react. He didn’t react, either, when David murmured his name and lifted him into a sitting position, massaging his hands. Not even when Fenrir, in an act of desperation, leaned in to kiss him, did he more than blink slowly.  
  
“Shit,” Fenrir cursed. “Little one, don’t do this to me. I know you’re angry, I know you must hate me now and that you feel betrayed. You have every right to be, show me.”  
  
“Gladly,” an icy voice spoke up behind him, and Fenrir felt a rush of magic, the likes of which he had never experienced before and he was lifted off his feet and propelled head-first into the next best wall.  
  
The almost pleasant numbness that came over him as his werewolf healing kicked in and blocked the pain was sadly short-lived, and he scrambled to his feet, readying himself for a counterattack that he was not sure would ever be implemented. He cocked his head in confusion as he recognised his attacker. Voldemort? He didn’t expect Voldemort of all people to play the role of Harry’s avenger. Where were his Death Eaters and since when did he do his dirty work himself? And in all modesty, wasn’t it rather foolish of Voldemort to take on an Alpha werewolf all by himself?  
  
Fenrir growled angrily; he would show Voldemort not to mess with him. But before he could retaliate, a wave of fiery heat hit him in the chest, scorching his skin. He howled in pain. Silver. This was really going too far. With a roar, he lunged at the skeletal man, but instead of showing the wizard his place he encountered a magical vortex that transported him smoothly around the wizard and out of the door - and down a flight of stairs, harshly bouncing him on every step, then back up again. Finally, he was able to free himself from the spell and now there was no more stopping him. Except that there was something off with Voldemort, something didn’t seem right.   
  
“How often did you tell me to trust you?” Voldemort demanded in a deadly whisper. “How often, Fenrir? And now this? You bite me? You could have killed my child! You could have killed me!”  
  
A magical fist connected with Fenrir’s chest, knocking the breath out of him. “Harry?”  
  
“How could you?!” Voldemort shouted, a tear escaping from his deep green eyes. “I hate you, I fucking hate you.”  
  
With a swish of his hand, he threw Fenrir out of the room again, leaning close to the slumped form of the werewolf. “You should pray to all your deities that my child is in perfect health because if not I’ll pump your body full of silver and watch with relish as you die a wretched death.”  
  
Voldemort straightened up and his eyes flashed to ruby red as he hissed testily, /For Salazar’s Sake, Potter, I’m not a bloody hotel. Get back into your own body./ He fell silent as if listening into himself, sighed in exasperation. /And you really think hiding in my body is better for your baby? Honestly, Potter, as if I would let you come to harm, but even my charity has bounds./  
  
He walked back into the Healer’s Ward, bidding Rudolphus to make room for him next to Harry. He then grasped Harry’s hand, squeezing firmly. Harry’s moaned, and his eyes gained focus again as he shifted slightly. His fingers dug into the palms of Voldemort’s hands as his whole body tensed.   
  
“My baby?” he croaked, tightening his grip on Voldemort’s hands when the Dark Lord sought to disentangle himself. “Stay. My baby?”  
  
“Calm, Mr. Potter,” Rudolphus told him gently, resting the fingertips of one hand against Harry’s temple. “I already checked your baby’s vitals, and everything is in perfect order.”  
  
But Harry wasn’t so easily appeased, still trembling and clinging to Voldemort, who looked vaguely annoyed at this development. “Do it again. Do an ultrasound. I need to see. Now!”  
  
“Alright, Mr. Potter.” Rudolphus obliged, putting a hand on Harry’s shoulder to bring him into a reclining position.   
  
Harry shuddered and bit his bottom lip as he waited for the screen to appear and only breathed a tiny sigh of relief when the image of his baby appeared, moving lively with bright green numbers next to it.  
  
“But... The bite, and I... I used my Animagus form, you said that was... that I shouldn’t do it, that it could harm the baby!” Harry exclaimed in distress, twisting his hands around Voldemort’s. “Did it harm the baby?”  
  
“No, Mr. Potter. Your transformation must have neutralised the venom and since your child is part werewolf, it seems like the short duration of you being in your wolf form did not do any harm,” Rudolphus explained calmly, but Harry still didn’t relax completely. “I will do another charm to confirm that everything is as it should be. It will check the brain activity of your child to eliminate brain damage, all right?”  
  
Harry nodded jerkily, waiting with bated breath until Rudolphus declared that everything was as it should be. “I give you my word as your healer that your baby did not come to any harm. You did the absolutely right thing.”  
  
Harry slumped in relief, the tension escaping in a harsh sob that wracked his delicate form. Rudolphus pulled the former Gryffindor into a calming embrace, petting the sable hair and allowing his magic to flow through Harry’s veins. With some difficulty because Harry still refused to let go of Voldemort’s hand, he managed to get Harry comfortable on the bed, supporting his head and his back with pillows and then spreading a blanket over the young man.   
  
At that moment, Fenrir slunk back into the ward, cautiously approaching the bed. “Little one?”  
  
Harry glared at him, his free hand resting protectively on his stomach. “Don’t come any closer.”  
  
“Harry, I didn’t... Why didn’t you tell me that nothing happened?” Fenrir asked, resisting the urge to approach despite Harry’s warning.  
  
Harry’s eyes were bright with outrage, fiery in their intensity, but cold with the unreserved hatred Fenrir thought to detect in them. The pregnant wizard looked exquisite, and he looked not like Fenrir’s anymore.  
  
“I suppose you would have believed me, would you?” Harry asked spitefully. “You formed your opinion of me the first time you saw me and it hasn’t changed in the slightest ever since. Go to hell, just go to hell and leave me alone.”  
  
“Harry... look, I understand that you’re angry and hurt, but nothing happened. The baby is fine and - ”  
  
“You bit me!” Harry snapped. “You tried to turn me against my will and against all reason. That nothing happened has absolutely nothing to do with you so don’t you dare feel proud of yourself!”  
  
“Harry... I swear I’ll make it up to you,” Fenrir promised, taking a hesitant step towards Harry and when Harry only tensed minutely, dropped to his knees next to the black-haired man, reaching out to him.  
  
“Don’t touch me,” Harry stopped him in a hard voice. “I can’t stand your presence right now.”  
  
“You want me to go?” Fenrir asked carefully. “Then I will go, but please, come back to the pack, if not to me. Please.”  
  
“I’ll need to think about that,” Harry said coldly, closing his eyes; Fenrir instinctively reached out to brush a strand of hair out of Harry’s face. “Don’t. Just go.”  
  
Fenrir sighed, but heeded Harry’s demand. Wasn’t that the least he could do for all the pain and fear he had caused Harry? He felt rather forlorn, lost, out of control and at the thought of Harry lying in a hospital bed with a thick bandage around his neck, guilt cut off his breath. What if Harry decided that he didn’t want or couldn’t return? What if he didn’t feel safe around werewolves anymore? What if he would cut off Fenrir completely? What if... But he couldn’t think like this. He was Fenrir Greyback, he was an Alpha. True, he had made a mistake, but that had happened before, and he would deal with it accordingly. Eventually, everything would get back to normal. Harry would forgive him because the alternative just wasn’t feasible.  
  
Meanwhile, Harry had relaxed under Rudolphus’ calming influence, though his eyes still jumped more often than not to the ultrasonic screen, and he hadn’t loosened his death-grip on Voldemort’s hand.  
  
“Potter, how long do you plan to hold my hand ransom?” Voldemort demanded, stretching his long legs to prevent them from cramping. “If you would kindly release me, I’m sure I could deal out some justice that would prevent you or your child from ever getting hurt again.”  
  
Harry’s eyes narrowed but then flickered to the screen again and he sighed. “I’ll deal with this on my own terms. Thank you.”  
  
“My hand, Potter,” Voldemort insisted. “I’m beginning to lose feeling in my hand and I won’t let you into my body again anyway. That was a one-time occurrence that I allowed it.”  
  
“Of course,” Harry replied a bit too evenly as that he could be considered completely serious. “Thank you.”  
  
The Dark Lord sneered at him. “You were panicking, and not even I am heartless enough to ignore such horrible wailing.”  
  
“I don’t think I was wailing,” Harry answered softly.  
  
“I suppose you fled to my body simply because you were getting bored in your own,” Voldemort mocked.  
  
“No, I was panicking,” Harry admitted. “But I was also afraid that my rage and the spells I used might have been harmful for the baby. I didn’t dare stay in my own body.”  
  
He now slowly released the Dark Lord’s hand, curling up on the bed, surprised when Voldemort offered his hand again with a condescending smirk. “Go ahead, Potter. I will bear your attachment for a bit longer.”  
  
“What do you want for your complaisance?” Harry asked, but pulled the hand against his chest.  
  
“Why, Potter, after all a favour is only as good as the favour returned, don’t you think?” Voldemort asked. “A quarter of your magic would suit me well.”  
  
Harry snorted. “Forget it.”  
  
“Ah, so you don’t find that so much magic is rather a nuisance?” Voldemort demanded slyly.  
  
“I certainly find that you’re a nuisance,” Harry snapped. “Voldemort, I’m really not in the mood.”  
  
“There is going to be a Ministry conference to confirm the new laws and discuss their implementation,” Voldemort offered. “The board of governors for Hogwarts will also be up for election. I wish you to attend.”  
  
Harry shrugged. “Why? There’s no need to impress your Death Eaters.”  
  
“But I would like to dispel the rumours that I killed you.” Voldemort smirked. “And of course, your presence will serve the dual purpose of reminding everyone that you are under my protection and that you are exceptional.”  
  
“Fine,” Harry muttered. “I’ll come, but I don’t promise to sit through the whole boring meeting.”  
  
“Acceptable.” Voldemort nodded in satisfaction before snapping for his house-elf to bring him some of his files from his office to read. “But now you should rest.”  
  
Harry sighed before craning his neck to look at David. “I don’t blame you. Don’t worry.”  
  
David grimaced painfully, trailing his fingers over the bloody bandage on Harry’s neck. “I never meant for you to end in the hospital. I didn’t want this.”  
  
“I know, David,” Harry murmured tiredly. “Fenrir overreacted. It’s not your fault.”  
  
“Still, I’m sorry,” David insisted carefully. “I’d understand if you wanted to keep your distance from me. Also, so as not provoke Greyback again.”  
  
Harry snorted derisively. “As if I’d take Fenrir’s feelings into consideration right now. He’ll have to deal and if he loses it again, he can... He’ll have to deal, and I don’t want to keep my distance from you. You’re my friend. You had every right to ask.”  
  
“No, I didn’t, Harry. We’re **friends** , not lovers. I never even meant it. I just wanted Draco to hear it from you that I’m not ready. I wanted you to reassure me that it’s okay for me not to be. I’m sorry I took advantage of you like this, that I objectified you.” David protested with a cautious look to Voldemort, who wasn’t paying attention to their conversation.  
  
Harry shrugged. “I didn’t feel like an object. And I’m always glad to help you, you know that.”  
  
Draco had paled at their words, looking sheepish and pained. “I thought it was a good idea, if only to show David that I’m willing to do anything for his recovery, to show him that I am not the possessive, jealous brat he sees in me. Obviously I didn’t think it through and I regret what consequences it had for you. Please accept my apologies.”  
  
“And what am I supposed to do with them?” Harry asked rhetorically. “I’d rather have another invitation for dinner - without any questions.”  
  
Draco inclined his head gratefully, a little smirk playing about his lips. “We’d be glad to welcome you for dinner as soon as you feel up to it.”  
  
Harry looked at Rudolphus in askance.   
  
“I would like to keep you here overnight,” Rudolphus offered. “So that I can make sure that you rest properly. If that is agreeable to you.”  
  
“You’ll all stay here,” Harry stated with a hint of a question in his voice. “Please.”  
  
“Of course,” David murmured, grimacing slightly before he spread out behind Harry, spooning around the younger man. “This okay with you?”  
  
Harry mumbled, grabbing the Death Eater’s arm to sling it around his extended waist. With one last nervous look at the screen, Harry closed his eyes to fall into a nightmare-filled sleep.


	28. Advice

Harry returned to the pack five days later, after both the Ministry meeting and the bite wound had closed, leaving merely another white scar on Harry’s body.   
  
“Cub,” Remus exclaimed, drawing him into a tight embrace, and Harry felt tears wet his collar. “I’m so sorry. I put you in danger and then I didn’t protect you. I’m sorry, cub. So sorry. We’ll leave, go somewhere else, yes?”  
  
“I love you, Remy,” Harry murmured, pecking his godfather’s cheek before he disentangled himself.  
  
“I love you, too, cub,” Remus whispered ,and Harry smiled at him, gently and openly, and the werewolf knew that he had been forgiven.   
  
“You’re my family and you belong here,” Harry continued softly. “Thus, that means that I belong here as well, doesn’t it?”   
  
He looked around himself until he caught sight of Fenrir. His eyes hardened considerably, and even from the distance Fenrir could see him tensing. His broad shoulders slumped guiltily, and he stayed in the background as his pack welcomed the young man, Maya immediately leading him over to the fire to provide him with tons of food.   
  
They were happy to have him back. Of course they were, even though their reaction to Fenrir’s confession had been divided. They hadn’t understood, of course not. Fenrir didn’t understand it, either, but he was the Alpha and neither his word nor his actions were questioned. Remus had lost it, though, lunging at him with pure rage in his yellow eyes. Sawyer had stopped him, pulled him back, pushed him face-down to the ground, holding him there until the younger werewolf had calmed at least slightly. Fenrir half-wished Sawyer hadn’t done so, but of course that was selfish. Disrupting the harmony of the pack just to alleviate his own guilt, as a type of self-flagellation, was not the way to go. Fenrir was still the Alpha. Remus was still his cub. Harry was not his anymore. But he still was his responsibility. His... no.   
  
Fenrir was the Alpha, and it was his job to fix things, but it had never occurred to him that it was much harder to right his own wrongs than dealing with the messes created by others. He wasn’t sure he could do this.   
  
His pack wasn’t taking sides because they were for Harry but couldn’t be against their Alpha. Fenrir had never felt this alone. He had tried to talk to Bryan, and the disappointed look he had received had been enough to freeze his insides to ice. His food was always burnt nowadays, or oversalted. He hadn’t protested. Sawyer scowled at him when he thought Fenrir wasn’t looking. Tristan wasn’t talking to him. Chetan wore a troubled expression, confused, lost, as if his hero had died. After that first incident, Remus had taken to avoiding him like the plague, herding Sirius away from him as if afraid he’d try to bite him, too.  
  
Maybe that would change now that Harry was back with them? Harry seemed happy enough, seeking comfort from Remus and Sirius, joking with Chetan, teasing Sawyer and relaxing with Tristan. Eating, smiling, laughing, just as long as Fenrir stayed well away from him.  
  
“I didn’t expect him to come back.” Lin was suddenly next to him, snuggling into his side like was Chetan’s habit. “Though, he seems set on ignoring you.”  
  
Fenrir grunted. “I don’t blame him.”  
  
“But, Alpha,” Lin protested, nudging his chin with her nose. “I would never ignore you, never betray you like this.”  
  
Fenrir bared his teeth at her, shoving her away from him. “You will not badmouth Harry. He did nothing wrong. I did.”  
  
“But - ” Fenrir stalked away, not even hearing her complaints.   
  
He needed to get away. Seeing Harry brought back his guilt full force, and he didn’t know how to react to him once again being with the pack. Though, he was grateful and happy that Harry had returned. That was a good sign, wasn’t it? Everything would be okay; he just needed to figure out how.   
  
He had made a horrible mistake, he realised that now, but Harry was a forgiving person, wasn’t he? Surely, killing his only remaining family was worse than what Fenrir had done and that dog had been forgiven. Harry was right, he belonged here, and Fenrir would be damned if he caused him to leave. But what could he possibly offer Harry to make him stay?   
  
He groaned. Nothing. Harry had come back because of Remus and Sirius, not because of Fenrir. That one look had told him as much. But Fenrir was the Alpha and Harry was his... no, but Harry was more than just the father of his child so Fenrir would offer him protection and comfort and support and everything else Harry needed. Whether Harry wanted to give him something in return or not. Fenrir had no right to expect anything from Harry, not after what he did.  
  
He sighed, running his hands through his hair as he leant back against a tree, thinking about what he could say to Harry this evening. He had no illusions that Harry would actually want to share a fur with him - he would most likely be kicked out of their hut - but before that he would attempt to talk things through with Harry, apologise. What would he say? There was no excuse, no sensible explanation; no convincing argument to make Harry want to forgive him.  
  
Fenrir stayed out in the forest for the rest of the afternoon, pondering what to tell Harry. He wasn’t sure if the result would convince Harry, but he had to try at least.   
  
Finally, it was already dark, he pushed away from the tree and slowly walked back to their little village, making a conscious effort not to slump and not to trudge. His pack had already retired, and the fire was dimmed, leaving the clearing in shadowy darkness. He quietly passed the fireplace, making his way to his hut. The silver-haired man hesitated briefly, but then decided to knock before he quickly slipped into their hut.  
  
“Harry?” Harry did not reply; Harry was not even there, and the hut was as deserted as it had been the last couple of days; Fenrir howled in pain, dread filling his every cell.  
  
Had Harry left again? Why? Fenrir had kept his distance, hadn’t he? No pressure, no awkward conversations, no fumbling apologies or further blunders. Why? The rational part of his mind had shut down completely as he was bombarded by doubts and dreads. One last desperate look confirmed that Harry really wasn’t there and Fenrir was sprinting out of the hut and to a smaller hut in the periphery.  
  
He was in no state of mind to knock but if he had waited just a moment, he would have heard the cries and moans of pleasure that emanated from the hut. But even that wouldn’t have deterred him. He pushed the door open, barely sparing the two bodies, entwined in passion, a look as he frantically sought Harry with his eyes.  
  
“Alpha,” Remus’ voice sounded suspiciously like a squeak, and he attempted to cover himself and Sirius, who had slung both arms around the werewolf’s neck to hinder him from leaving.  
  
“Where is he?” Fenrir barked with no consideration for their compromising position. “Where’s Harry?”  
  
“Harry, Alpha?” Remus asked carefully, suspiciously, shifting slightly to shield Sirius from the other werewolf’s eyes. “I’m not sure I should tell you...”  
  
“Where, Remus?!” Fenrir interrupted, taking a step towards them.   
  
“I’m not - ”  
  
“For Goddess’ Sake, Remus!” Fenrir growled. “Harry is... I need to talk with him.”  
  
Remus pondered his reply for a moment, absently rubbing Sirius’ arm to keep him calm. “Isn’t he with Chetan and Sawyer?”  
  
Fenrir turned on his heel and stormed to the hut Chetan, Sawyer and sometimes Tristan shared, knocking forcefully on the door until it was jerked open by a sleepy-eyed Chetan.  
  
“Harry?” Fenrir demanded. “Is he here?”  
  
Chetan straightened almost imperceptibly, effectively blocking the doorway. “Yes. He’s sleeping. Alpha.”  
  
Fenrir growled warningly, but at the same time felt himself relax now that he knew that Harry was safe and still within reach.  
  
“Actually, not anymore.” Harry ducked under the blond werewolf’s arm, pushing lightly against him. “Thanks, Chetan. I’ll be able to handle this.”  
  
“Fine,” Chetan grumbled. “Sawyer and I are only a shout away if you need us.”  
  
The young werewolf slipped back into the hut, and Harry pulled the door shut behind him, comfortably resting against it and rubbing his stomach before looking up at Fenrir. “What do you want?”  
  
“I thought we could talk.” Fenrir gulped uncomfortably under Harry’s piercing gaze.  
  
“I wouldn’t know about what,” Harry retorted. “I trust you’re okay with me being here?”  
  
“Yes, of course,” Fenrir assured him hastily, trying himself on a smile that turned out rather forced. “You... I want you to stay.”  
  
“Then I don’t see what we possibly have to discuss,” Harry stated. “I don’t feel like small talk.”  
  
He arched an eyebrow, waiting if the werewolf would offer something, but when Fenrir just bowed his massive head with a small nod, he turned away with a scoff. “Goodnight, Fenrir.”  
  
“Wait, Harry. Don’t you... I mean you can sleep in our hut. I’ll sleep outside,” Fenrir finally said, and Harry looked back over his shoulder.  
  
“I don’t think could go in there,” Harry whispered, tugging on his collar. “Don’t you think... I’ll stay here, Fenrir.”  
  
“What, little one?” Fenrir demanded, taking a step towards the young man, drawing back when Harry seemed to shrink into himself. “I still care about you. Tell me what is bothering you, except for my presence obviously.” He quirked his lips in a sad attempt at humour. “Don’t I think what, Harry?”  
  
Harry shook his head, then seemed to reconsider and answered, “Don’t you think I have enough nightmares? I don’t have to return to that hut and I won’t. I’ll see you tomorrow, Fenrir.”  
  
With that he turned for good and disappeared in the hut, leaving Fenrir with the image of haunted, vulnerable green eyes imprinted in his mind. Goddess, what had he done? As if Harry hadn’t had enough nightmares without him.  
  
ö_ö_ö  
  
Fenrir approached the slender black-haired man cautiously, trying to gauge Harry’s reaction. They had spent the major part of the last three weeks in strained silence, though Fenrir was doing his utmost to make Harry feel comfortable and to show him only his understanding, patient and forgivable side.   
  
Harry looked up at him, his pale face impassive, except for the shadow of sadness that flitted over it. “Yes?”  
  
Fenrir slowly, unthreateningly sat down opposite of Harry since he didn’t want to talk down on him. He was glad for this move when Harry’s muscles slacked off.  
  
“What are we going to do about the full moon? Will you stay?”  
  
Harry bit his lip in thought. “You want me to.”  
  
“I want you and the baby to be safe and if I have you here I can make sure you are,” Fenrir grumbled self-consciously. “But if you want to have that healer close or if you don’t feel safe...”  
  
“Healer Lestrange said that my shield is good, but...” Harry trailed off as well.  
  
“You don’t trust me,” Fenrir stated, the by now familiar wave of guilt settling heavily in his stomach like a dull ache. “I can leave if you want to spend the full moon with your godfathers.”  
  
Harry’s head jerked up. “I don’t want you to leave the pack, and that’s not the issue. I’m just afraid that there will be problems and then I would be stuck here.”  
  
“I can take you back if something goes wrong,” Sirius spoke up, changing from his Animagus form to envelope Harry in a hug. “With the portal, we can be at the castle within a few minutes.”  
  
“But what about the password? You’ll have to be human to say it,” Harry protested.  
  
“I can keep the others in check for as long as it takes you two to say the password and step through the portal,” Fenrir promised earnestly. “And I will let you go.”  
  
“Promise?” Harry asked softly.  
  
“Yes.” Fenrir nodded decisively. “I may be a possessive bastard most of the time, but I’ll have myself under control and do anything to help the baby. No one will attack you this time. Right, Sawyer?” He turned expectantly to the black-haired werewolf, who was making some spikes next to them.  
  
“Harry is part of the pack,” the werewolf replied deliberately. “We will protect him, from anything. Don’t worry, Harry.”  
  
“Thanks,” the younger man murmured, listening to Sirius’ heartbeat. “I guess that means I’m staying, Fenrir.”  
  
Fenrir smiled gratefully at him. “Good. You want to go for a check-up before the moon rises? There’s still enough time.”  
  
“I think I just want to rest a little more,” Harry said, snuggling into his godfather.  
  
Fenrir couldn’t quite hide his disappointment because as strained as his relationship with Harry was, the younger man had never once excluded him from something that had to do with the baby. Once or twice, he had even been allowed to touch Harry’s stomach. If Harry had wanted to go to the healer once more, Fenrir would have been allowed to accompany him and by now he treasured every second he could spend with Harry.   
  
The only conversation he had with Harry was about baby-related issues, and Fenrir had learned quickly that unless he enquired about both the baby and Harry he would not get an answer. So he made sure to bring up the baby as often as possible to prevent Harry from shutting him out. It worked for the most part. Not now, though.  
  
But of course, he would respect Harry’s wishes. What else had he done these last few weeks? He got up to check if all the huts were locked, locked his own and the storage hut. Afterwards, he gathered his pack around Harry and Sirius, moving as close to Harry as he dared.  
  
The werewolves got undressed and Harry and Sirius also slipped out of their clothes and handed them to Maya, who folded them and put them in a heavy wooded chest. Fenrir moved a little closer to Harry, almost shyly putting his hand on his swelling belly. Harry sent him a curious look, but didn’t protest. He did however pull his knees up to his chest as much as possible and put his hands to his neck, shielding it from Fenrir and his naked body from the other werewolves. Fenrir’s hand was now held snuck against Harry’s body, but instead of drawing it back he began to trace imaginary patterns on the taut skin.   
  
Harry avoided looking at the well-built, muscular werewolves around him. His own body was too thin, the bones protruding and with his baby bump it looked even more misshapen.  
  
“Don’t worry, little moonlight,” Fenrir grumbled. “I’m here if our baby takes longer to transform. I’ll protect you two.”  
  
“Not necessary,” Harry whispered just as Lin howled out her transformation.   
  
“Shh, breathe, just breathe. Don’t fight it, don’t worry,” Fenrir growled softly, trying to make Harry uncurl. “Just give the baby your strength. It’ll be alright. The baby will be fine.”  
  
Harry’s arms flayed, and whether by accident or deliberately he caught Fenrir’s chin in an impressive left hook before he shuddered and morphed into his Animagus form. Harry yowled painfully. Fenrir transformed smoothly, carefully nudging the prone white form. Green eyes blinked up at him, and he swiped his tongue over the furred forehead, nuzzling and nudging the smaller wolf. Harry barred his teeth at him, rolling to his other side, and the great silver wolf drew back dejectedly.  
  
Around them, the other werewolves and the black dog howled and yipped. Suddenly a light-furred werewolf bounded over to them, pushing his nose against Harry’s before gently tugging on one black-tipped ear. The white wolf lazily growled at the audacious werewolf, but got up on slightly shaky legs to follow Chetan.  
  
Chetan grinned wolfishly at him, skipping around the much smaller wolf as he accompanied him to the rest of the pack, who all sniffed and nuzzled Harry, welcoming him in their family. Fenrir watched all this avidly and not a little suspiciously, ready to intervene should one of his pack make the slightest move to hurt Harry.  
  
But Harry was contented with Remus licking over his side, though the werewolf startled slightly when Harry snatched for his ear, growling playfully. Remus rumbled lowly, taking Harry by the scruff of his neck and pushing him down, stepping over him. Harry whimpered, bumping into Remus’ belly as he got up and sent a small grin up at the still ragged-looking brown werewolf. Harry then burst out from under him, running as fast as he could. With a happy yowl, he urged the werewolves to come and catch him.  
  
Harry didn’t really stand a chance to escape them, but it seemed that the exercise helped him feel better, and so Fenrir was grateful for his pack’s distraction. Although didn’t dare join in. No need reminding Harry of what he had done. Fenrir watched as Harry finally surrendered to Tristan, turning to his back, looking innocently up at the dark-haired wolf, who growled deeply at the small white canine before he stretched out next to him, allowing the smaller wolf to bury against his chest. The other werewolves romped around a little longer, but Sirius joined them soon, licking Harry’s cheek before dropping down on Harry’s other side.   
  
Before they could really get comfortable, though, Chetan bounded over to them, panting happily as he draped himself over Tristan’s back and put his head on Harry’s shoulder. Soon they were all more or less intertwined, piled over each other and snuggled together and they fell asleep.  
  
Fenrir carefully licked all of his wolves goodnight, even Harry and Sirius and then settled at the edge of their pile, next to Lin, who had only half-heartedly joined in the fun.


	29. Communication

Remus held Harry, who slowly morphed back into human form, drawing slow circles on his back and rumbling soothingly in his ear. Fenrir approached them, carefully slinging a blanket around Harry’s shoulders.  
  
“Thanks,” Harry whispered, reaching out with a shaking hand to pull the blanket tight around him. “I feel slightly less bad than the last time.”   
  
“That’s good,” Fenrir murmured. “How did you like your first real full moon with the pack?”  
  
Harry snorted. “Better than last time, that’s for sure... No, really, it was great.”  
  
“I’m glad you stayed,” Fenrir replied, knowing full well that he had little part in making Harry’s full moon great. “And that you didn’t regret it.”  
  
Harry hummed lowly. “I think I’m going to take a nap.”  
  
“Okay, cub,” Remus agreed, glancing at Fenrir before he added, “Can I leave you alone? I’d like to take a bath.”  
  
“Sure, go ahead,” Harry murmured sleepily. “Don’t let Siri dunk you, though.”  
  
“I’ll see what I can do.” Remus pressed a kiss to Harry’s temple before he got up, his face adorned by a light blush. “Sweet dreams, cub.”  
  
Harry sighed, curling up on his side and after one brief look at Fenrir, closed his eyes. But Harry had hardly relaxed and evened out his breathing when Maya approached them, her hands at her hip. “Alpha, Harry, breakfast is ready.”  
  
“Not hungry,” Harry muttered. “Want to sleep.”  
  
“You need to eat regularly, as you well know, Harry. The baby needs the nutrients,” Maya replied sternly. “You can sleep after you ate something. I made omelettes, with cheese and tomatoes for you. Harry, did you hear me?”  
  
“I suppose I can’t pretend I didn’t hear you, can I?” Harry asked. “Merlin, I’m an adult, you know? And if I don’t want to eat, I don’t want to eat. It’s that simple.”  
  
“I mean well, Harry,” Maya replied, surprised by Harry’s annoyance.  
  
“Doesn’t everybody?” Harry muttered spitefully, getting up and walking past Maya.  
  
“I can make something else,” Maya offered, rather helplessly. “Maybe some sandwiches or pancakes? Or some porridge?”  
  
“Just leave him be, Maya,” Fenrir grumbled. “He’ll calm down.”  
  
“I just wanted him to eat something,” Maya murmured to herself. “What did I do wrong?”  
  
“Nothing, he’s just touchy,” Fenrir reassured her, butting Maya’s temple with his nose. “I’ll see what I can do, alright?”  
  
Maya nodded gratefully, though she also looked mildly sceptical as she ran a hand through her white hair. “Alpha, do you think that is a good idea? Harry doesn’t need any more stress.”  
  
Fenrir growled testily. Just because he wasn’t in Harry’s good books right now, it didn’t mean that Fenrir was completely inept at calming Harry. Despite what the rest of his pack might think, he still knew how to deal with Harry’s moods and even if he was slightly unsure how to fix his own problems with Harry, he could straighten out misunderstandings between the members of his pack. That was his job as the Alpha, even where Harry was concerned. Thus, he followed the young man, who had disappeared in the hut he now slept in, banging the door. But when Fenrir entered, Harry’s mood had already changed again and the slight wizard was sitting with his legs drawn up against his chest, looking truly miserable.  
  
“I’m sorry I snapped at Maya,” he whispered, wincing when Fenrir sat down next to him as if he expected Fenrir to react with violence. “I’m just not hungry. I’ll apologise later.”  
  
“She’ll understand. Are you two okay?”  
  
Fenrir did not foresee the fist that collided with his nose, nor the angry glimmer in Harry’s eyes. “ **I** am okay!”  
  
“Harry, what...? What is wrong?” Fenrir asked, viciously stomping on his Alpha demeanour that demanded that he show the cub his place; this wouldn’t go over well.  
  
“You are wrong. **You** are!” Harry glared fiercely at him. “I’m not just an incubator! I have feelings too, you know? But all you care about is the baby! Baby this, baby that. You don’t give a shit about me now that I have the proportions of a whale.”  
  
“What? Harry? That’s not - ” Fenrir protested, but Harry cut him short, pacing in agitation.  
  
“You find me disgusting, don’t you?” Harry demanded, impatiently brushing over his cheeks. “Why don’t you go to your Lin? You two seem cosy enough.”  
  
“No, Harry, you’re beautiful. I - ”  
  
“You don’t touch me anymore. I might as well go because what little contact we have we can just as well have via letters,” Harry snapped, interrupting him again. “The baby is fine as well. So now that you know that, you can leave.”  
  
Harry jerked his wand up, sending Fenrir sailing through the door and locked the werewolf out before he had really the time to react.  
  
“What was that?” he murmured to himself, slowly getting up again and brushing of his jeans.  
  
“Did he kick you out?” Suddenly his thoughts were interrupted by a voice tinged with amusement. “Harry is a bit moody, isn’t he? Want my advice?”  
  
“What advice could you possibly give me, Black?” Fenrir demanded, mildly curious despite himself.  
  
“Well, for one, Harry talks to me, and Remus of course, and he feels neglected,” Sirius offered, motioning a bit to the side, sitting down on a large, moss-covered tree trunk; Fenrir reluctantly sat down next to him. “He thinks that everyone, you especially, is only interested in the baby and though that makes him feel safe on some level because it means that his child will be well taken care of, it also reminds him of his bad childhood.” He sighed. “Moony and I have tried to show him that we care about him just as much if not more, but well, we can’t give him all the appreciation he needs. None of us would really welcome it if we tried to convince Harry that he’s still attractive.”  
  
Fenrir growled but then sighed. “It’s not like Harry wants me to show him that I still find him desirable. He made abundantly clear that he doesn’t want me anywhere near him.”  
  
“Stop beating yourself up,” Sirius told him harshly. “He’s still here, doesn’t that tell you something? I suggest that you get your act together if you want to keep Harry because he’s ready to leave before you kick him out.”  
  
“I would never kick him out,” Fenrir protested. “I’m just giving him time. He knows that I’m always there for him.”  
  
“Does he now?” Sirius asked mockingly. “Then why is he crying in that hut?” Fenrir lowered his head, but couldn’t think of an answer. “Harry is hurt, of course he is, and if it was Remus or my decision we would pack him up and take him as far away from you as possible... But since it isn’t, you will damn well get your head out of your butt and grovel and plead and apologise and do everything to earn his forgiveness. I can assure you that your ‘giving him time’-bullshit is not helping him.”  
  
Fenrir thought that he should probably reinforce on Sirius that he couldn’t talk to him like that, but his mind was caught up on the tiny sliver of hope Sirius’ words had invoked. Still he argued, “I don’t want him to feel pressured. He’ll come to me when he’s ready to give me another chance.”  
  
“Merlin, sometimes you can really be thick-headed. The both of you. I tried to explain to Harry that you’d be thinking like that, but he insists that you always made the first move and if you had any interest in him still you would make a move on him now, but that you don’t because you, like everyone else, find him unattractive and fat.”  
  
“He isn’t fat, he’s pregnant,” Fenrir protested before he scowled. “Besides, he knows that Travers found him attractive enough.”  
  
Sirius arched an eyebrow. “That still eating you up, man? Harry turned him down, didn’t he? And if you ask me, you have no right whatsoever to - ”  
  
“I’m not asking you!” Fenrir snapped, straightening his spine as Sirius ducked his head, lowered his eyes, rounded his back; everything you should do when faced with an Alpha werewolf; everything Harry had never done. “He considered it. Am I supposed to just forget the fact that he considered cheating on me? That he thought nothing of sleeping with another man?”  
  
“Maybe **you** should consider something,” Sirius mumbled softly but still with a hint of defiance. “Harry didn’t agree, he came back here and he even confessed everything. Have you ever asked yourself why he did that? As for Travers, he doesn’t desire Harry nor does Harry desire him. Travers just wanted someone whom he could trust.”  
  
“You don’t propose to have sex with someone if you don’t desire them,” Fenrir argued testily, taking a little stone and throwing it with force into the forest.  
  
The Animagus’ eyes were stormy grey, haunted and his lips quirked into a bitter smile. “Do you think everyone in Azkaban suddenly turned gay? It was never about desire or sexual orientation, it was never about wanting... us.” A shadow flitted over his face. “It was always about humiliation, about revenge, about control.”  
  
“I don’t see what this has to do with Harry,” Fenrir murmured, feeling completely out of is depth; Was he supposed to comfort Sirius now? He opted for offering another little stone to the Animagus, who took it with a surprised, grateful grin.  
  
“My point is that sex is not always about wanting someone and that on Travers, I assume, it would have a calming effect to know that his partner doesn’t desire him or want to control him,” Sirius explained, rolling the stone between his fingers. “Harry’s no threat to him, not like Malfoy, who would certainly have been more enthusiastic.”  
  
“Enthusiastic?” Fenrir echoed incredulously, and Sirius shrugged apologetically.  
  
“I was trying to be discreet here.” Sirius pouted. “Fact is, Harry would have been safe, and Harry believes that this was the only reason Travers propositioned him, which may or may not be true. It’s of no consequence. What is of consequence, however, is how you treat Harry. Giving him time is all well and good, but if you don’t start giving Harry some reassurance, some physical reassurance, that he’s more than just a breeding mare, it won’t be long before Harry completely falls apart. I thought you didn’t want to hurt him anymore?”  
  
“And how am I supposed to go about reassuring Harry?” Fenrir asked, ignoring Sirius murmured last sentence. “He doesn’t want me touching him, and when I try to talk to him about something other than the baby he either cuts me off or ignores me.”  
  
“What, did you expect him to make it easy for you, Greyback?” Sirius scoffed.  
  
“Fine,” Fenrir grumbled. “I get it.”  
  
Sirius shook his head. “I don’t think you do. Let me make it clear for you: You bit Harry.” He explained it slowly and clearly as if he was afraid the meaning of his words might escape the werewolf if he didn’t.  
  
Fenrir wanted to roll his eyes, scoff at the ridiculously obvious declaration, but instead he felt a lump in his throat, tasted, once again, Harry’s blood on his tongue. He felt sick.  
  
“How do I make that up to him?” he whispered; he wasn’t sure if he was still talking to Sirius.  
  
“Every day a little. You start and you never stop and long after Harry has forgiven you and forgotten the feeling of betrayal, you will still remember all the horrid details so that you never do something like that again,” Sirius replied then ran a hand through his hair and changed the subject, “You should approach him, but maybe you should try a... gentler approach? I think that is what Harry has been missing and maybe that made him curious about how sex with Travers would be. Gentle.”  
  
“I was gentle!” Fenrir growled angrily at the audacious dog, who dared to presume he knew more about Fenrir’s relationship with Harry than he himself did. “Not that it’s any of your business. That’s not the reason Harry thought about cheating on me.”  
  
But the former Gryffindor wasn’t to be deterred. “Gentle for werewolf standards perhaps, but for us humans that’s still pretty rough. Believe me, I would know, and Remus is the gentlest soul I ever met.”  
  
Fenrir grunted, not ready to agree. “So, he wants me to be gentle? I can do that. But I don’t see - ”   
  
“And you think that’s it? That Harry just wants gentle sex?” Sirius demanded scornfully.  
  
“You just said so!” Fenrir growled; he remembered all too clearly why he didn’t like humans. “Make up your - “  
  
“Because gentle sex can hurt just as much as rough sex.” Sirius paused dramatically. “There’s a difference between having sex and making love and it’s that difference that made Harry consider having sex with Travers. You can easily have sex with several people, but making love is a completely different matter, and now think again about why Harry refused. Maybe then you will understand what you need to do.”  
  
With that he clapped the Alpha’s shoulder and slipped from the tree trunk, easily jogging towards Remus, who welcomed him with a possessive but gentle hug.  
  
If possible, Fenrir felt even more confused after this conversation and though he experienced something like hope at the thought that Harry might actually welcome him back, he was just as apprehensive and he realised that a lot of work lay ahead of him.  
  
ö_ö_ö  
  
“Harry.” Fenrir waited until the younger man looked up from munching on his bread roll. “Would you like to take a walk with me?”  
  
He ignored the encouraging smile Sirius bestowed on him and resisted the urge to fidget as he waited for Harry to answer. Harry peered at him suspiciously, but finally shrugged, making to get to his feet. Fenrir hastened to assist him, reaching out for Harry’s hand and pulling him as carefully as possibly to his feet, stabilising the black-haired beauty against his own body.  
  
Fenrir relished in the contact, taking a deep sniff of Harry’s unique scent before he reluctantly released him, though instead he took Harry’s small hand in his, pressed a chaste kiss to the delicate knuckles and cautiously tugged to make Harry follow him. Harry trotted next to him obediently, his eyes lowered to the ground so that he didn’t notice when Fenrir took up a pre-packed pack with his free hand.  
  
The werewolf kept a careful eye on his little moonlight, shielding him from wayward branches and catching him when he stumbled, but refrained from conversation until they came to the place he had decided was their destination. It was not too far away from the pack, but far enough to ensure their privacy, a spot where the trees stood less densely and where underbrush was replaced by soft grass, fragrant herbs and bright green moss.  
  
“Would you like to sit down?” he proposed, motioning vaguely to a large flat rock, spreading the fluffy bear fur he had brought with him over it so that Harry wouldn’t be cold.  
  
Harry sat down, still strangely passive, and Fenrir took a seat next to him. Their silence stretched for a bit longer before Fenrir took Harry’s hand once more, putting it on his own thigh and caressing the small white finger tips.  
  
“I wanted to talk to you, about what you said this morning,” he murmured, keeping up his soothing stroking. “About us?”  
  
“I’m listening,” Harry said softly.  
  
“Please,” Fenrir tilted Harry’s head to look at him. “I know that what I did is unforgiveable and that no apology will make this up to you, but - ”  
  
“You could at least try,” Harry interrupted him, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You could at least apologise **once**.”  
  
“Harry, little one, of course I’m sorry. I’m very sorry and I feel horrible that I caused you so much pain and if I could do anything, anything at all to make it undone, I wouldn’t hesitate,” Fenrir said urgently. “I am sorry, Harry.”  
  
“You were right,” Harry murmured, looking away again. “It didn’t help.”  
  
Fenrir slumped, pressing a kiss into Harry’s hand. “Do you think you’ll forgive me, someday, little sweet wolf?”  
  
“I’ll try to, for the sake of our child,” Harry whispered.   
  
“Harry... You know that I don’t only care about our cub, don’t you?” Fenrir asked, trying to catch Harry’s eye. “I care about you very much. And I think you’re beautiful, breathtaking. But your body isn’t the only reason I care for you.”  
  
“So you didn’t bring me here to fuck me?” Harry asked curiously, glancing at him.  
  
“No... Yes... I mean, dammit, Harry, I want you to be happy again. I want us to talk, clear the air and then, yes, I would like to have... be intimate with you again, but it is not a requirement,” Fenrir stumbled over his own words with rising frustration.   
  
Harry cocked his head slightly. “Aren’t you angry at me?”  
  
“What?” Fenrir demanded, sighing when Harry ducked his head at the sharp tone.  
  
“For... what happened... for provoking you,” Harry whispered, twisting his hands around before he noticed that Fenrir was still holding onto his right hand, and then stilling abruptly.  
  
“Harry... You didn’t sleep with him, right? You didn’t. I overreacted - ”  
  
“I knew you would and I kept pushing you. And even when I noticed how angry you were, I still had to be cheeky and stupid...” His voice was full of disgust. “Of course you jumped to the wrong conclusion, you had to the way I was acting and with what I was saying, and I damn well knew how possessive you are, that you wouldn’t let this slide. I purposefully fucked it up, you just reacted. I’m not sure I can even blame you for that.”  
  
“Don’t say that, sweet one.” Fenrir breathed a kiss on Harry’s hand. “I should have trusted you. I didn’t even smell him on you.” He snorted derisively. “I should have known and no matter what you did or didn’t do, no matter how you acted or what you said, it’s no excuse for what I did. I should never have bitten you.”  
  
“No, you shouldn’t have,” Harry agreed. “You could have killed our child. That’s what you should be apologising for, but I’m not angry at you for losing your temper. Not really. That’s as much my fault as it is yours.”  
  
“No, little wolf,” Fenrir protested. “It really isn’t. I shouldn’t have lost it and that’s that. You didn’t sleep with him.”  
  
“I thought about it,” Harry admitted, biting his lips but very cautiously leaned against the werewolf.  
  
“Why, Harry? I thought you were happy,” Fenrir murmured, trying to stay calm.  
  
“I’m trying to help David, but truth is I’m just making it up as I go. I have no idea what I’m doing. If he thought that sleeping with me would help him, who am I to say that it won’t?” Harry whispered, briefly glancing up at him. “I want him to get better.”  
  
“I’m not blaming you for wanting to help,” Fenrir kept his voice soft and non-threatening. “Was that the only reason you considered it? You can tell me if there’s something else.”  
  
Harry kept silent for a moment and Fenrir almost thought he wouldn’t answer. “When we were in Azkaban, I thought what a horrible waste it would be to die a virgin.”  
  
“And now?” Fenrir asked carefully, though the revelation that he had been Harry’s first filled him with inexplicable joy and pride; and a new rush of guilt.  
  
“Now I wonder if it was the right decision,” Harry murmured lowly. “Because with all the good feelings came a truckload of bad feelings, a lot of pain. I think I want to go back to numbness now.”  
  
“But it’s not working, is it?” Fenrir said softly, and Harry shook his head. “Good.”  
  
Harry laughed, but it sounded shrill and unnatural with a hint of hysteria. Fenrir winced mentally, knowing how his answer had sounded, but unwilling to apologise for Harry still feeling something. Even if Harry was hurting right now, it meant that Fenrir had a chance to make things right again. He’d take an angry and sad Harry over a zombie Harry anytime. He squeezed Harry’s hand.  
  
“Do you think the only way for me to feel is through pain?” Harry asked. “Because I’m starting to suspect it is.”  
  
“No, I don’t think so, little human,” Fenrir insisted, trying to keep the angry edge out of his voice. “You deserve happiness like everyone else.”  
  
“I was happy,” Harry said bitterly. “But I was also curious if sex is always what we have.”   
  
“Why didn’t you say that I hurt you?” Fenrir demanded, remembering Sirius’ advice. “I thought you liked it a little rough. You said that you didn’t need to be treated like a princess.”  
  
“What are you talking about?” Harry asked. “Sure, you’re always a little rough and maybe, even though I don’t need it, I’d like to be treated with more tenderness from time to time, but that’s not what I was referring to. You’ll never let me top, I know that, I’ve accepted it, but that doesn’t mean that I’m not curious about how it would be.”  
  
“Wait, wait, Travers asked **you** to bugger **him**?” Fenrir asked incredulously.  
  
“Of course, what did you think?” Harry demanded, pulling away from the werewolf. “That I would let someone, anyone fuck me while I was carrying your child?”  
  
“I just assumed...” Fenrir murmured, frustrated that their conversation had once again taken a turn for the worse. “I... I never bottomed before, either. Doesn’t make me curious to try it.”  
  
Harry snorted, but accepted the change of subject. “Of course not, you’re a fucking Alpha. You know who you are, but I’m not so sure. It doesn’t matter, I declined, didn’t I?”  
  
“Yes, thank you.” Fenrir smiled a teeth-barring smile at the younger man. “But will you tell me why? You said you didn’t see a reason to.”  
  
“I didn’t.” Harry shrugged, blushing faintly. “But when it came down to it... I didn’t need a reason, anymore, you know? Something just told me that this is not what I wanted, that this was stretching my relationship with David a bit too far. And our relationship. You wouldn’t have liked it.”  
  
Fenrir barked out a bitter laugh. “No, I wouldn’t have, sweet one.” He reached out to trace the white half-moon scars on Harry’s neck, but the black-haired man twisted away, putting his hands around his neck to shield it from the werewolf. “Oh, Goddess, Harry, I didn’t... I didn’t.” He croaked out, dropping to his knees in front of Harry and burying his head against the slender legs. “Don’t be afraid of me, please. I’ll never hurt you like this again. Never.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered, burying his hands in Fenrir’s thick silver hair. “Please, don’t send me away. Please, I won’t shy away anymore.”  
  
“Harry, I won’t send you away. You’re my little moonlight,” Fenrir whispered. “Mine. And I’m yours, if you’ll have me.”  
  
“I’m scared,” Harry whimpered.  
  
“I won’t hurt you again, I promise,” Fenrir said earnestly and managed, despite their awkward position, to embrace Harry.   
  
“Not that.” Harry closed his eyes in despair. “I should hate you. I should mistrust you, shouldn’t I? But I just can’t bring myself to because I – I miss you. I miss waking with your arms around me and seeing you smile at me like I’m somehow special and I miss how safe you always made me feel and I want that back.” He sobbed. “I want that back, even if... I think I love you. I’m so sick.”  
  
“Shh, shh, you’re not sick. You’re amazing,” Fenrir murmured, kissing Harry’s temple. “My rebellious, enchanting, amazing cub, remember? And you’re not alone in this, you know, I want all that back as well and I love you, too. I love you, Harry.”  
  
Harry’s small form with the extended stomach quivered and shook with hysterical laughter and heart-felt sobs, and Fenrir could do nothing but hold him securely against his chest with Harry’s head tucked under his chin so that his mouth didn’t come anywhere close to Harry’s neck, trying to digest this unexpected confession and deal with it as quickly and efficiently as possible because Harry was clearly upset and needed his support.  
  
“You do?” Harry finally asked in a very small and vulnerable voice. “You’re not only saying this because you pity me?”  
  
“Stupid little thing, if I remember correctly I told you that I wanted more a good while ago,” Fenrir grumbled, pressing a careful kiss into Harry’s hair. “I wanted you and I wanted you to return my love. Of course, I do love you.”  
  
“I’m scared.”  
  
“We’ll do this together,” Fenrir murmured soothingly, moving his hands to support Harry’s back. “Give me a second chance, little moonlight, and we’ll work this out. I promise you, we’ll find a way to make you feel safe again.”  
  
“I gave you a second chance the moment I came back here,” Harry whispered. “I guess you do want it, after all?”  
  
“Yes, definitely, pretty white one,” Fenrir answered, and Harry quirked a shy smile, snuggling into Fenrir’s broad form.  
  
The werewolf stretched out to make them more comfortable, and it wasn’t long before Harry’s breathing evened out, his delicate body relaxing completely. Fenrir pulled the bear fur from the rock and tucked it around Harry to keep him warm while he slept.  
  
His heart was filled with hope, love and something else that might have been pride or elation or simple happiness. Harry loved him. Harry had finally admitted it and Harry was back in his arms. He felt like he could battle the world or walk through a shower of silver without so much as a scratch. Invincible, with and for Harry. No one would hurt his little human ever again. Most of all, Fenrir wouldn’t hurt him again.  
  
Harry was beautiful, but the last few weeks and the full moon had left dark circles under his eyes, his cheeks sunken, and he looked frail and exhausted. He regretted the many fights they had had, how easily both of them were provoked, and no matter what Harry said, he regretted losing his temper and letting his jealousy get the better of him. But now he had been granted another chance and he would make this relationship work and show Harry that it was okay and safe to be in love with him.


	30. Passion

For a while, Fenrir traced the nubs on Harry’s back through the thick, wide sweater Harry was wearing, but then his curiosity got the better of him and he slid his hand under it, slowly experiencing the contours of Harry’s body. In his fifth month of pregnancy, Harry’s body was still slim, but his baby bump was clearly visible, a small rounded belly on a beautiful wizard. On his beautiful wizard. Fenrir had never found pregnant women even remotely attractive, rather the opposite, their bloated middles and their chubbying faces doing nothing for his libido, but somehow the knowledge that Harry was carrying his child made him realise that Harry was still gorgeous, maybe even more so.   
  
“What are you doing?” Harry demanded still drowsily but with rising sharpness in his voice. “Checking how fat I’ve become?”  
  
“Checking that you’re still as beautiful as I remember,” Fenrir corrected him gently. “And you are.”  
  
Harry snorted, rubbing his eyes as he sat up. “Yeah, sure. That’s why you can barely stand to look at me.”  
  
“I’ve been looking, Harry, but I never did more because I thought you wouldn’t welcome my advances, that you would feel pressured and uncomfortable,” Fenrir said. “You always refused me and got angry at me so that I finally gave up.”  
  
“Well, I was angry... in the beginning, but by the time I was ready to forgive you, you ignored me and only cared about the baby,” Harry murmured. “I thought you had found me too demanding or moody or... too ugly.”  
  
“No, silly little thing, anything but,” Fenrir whispered.  
  
“You didn’t even fight with me anymore,” Harry said accusingly, glaring at the werewolf. “You’re still not fighting with me.”  
  
Fenrir took a very deep breath, then butted his nose against Harry’s with a teasing smirk. “Horny, beautiful wolf? I know you only want the make-up sex.”  
  
Harry relaxed, smiling freely. “Ah, you wish, Fenrir. You’ll have to do better than that.”  
  
“Oh, I will, sweet one, I will,” Fenrir growled deeply, pushing Harry back on the fur, pinning the frail wrists above the unruly mop of hair. “Just not today. Today, there will be no more fighting, no more hissy fits because I intend to make love to you and show you that I’m very well able to be gentle. That sound about okay to you?”  
  
Harry’s lips quirked in amusement. “Then why do you hold me down, Fenrir? Face it, you’re incapable of being anything but a domineering Alpha.”  
  
“I’ll show you. Let me show you,” Fenrir demanded, releasing Harry with a kiss to the pulse point of his left wrist. “I’ll be good to you.”  
  
“Aren’t you always?” Harry asked rhetorically.  
  
“Then I’ll be even better,” Fenrir declared, claiming Harry’s sweet mouth with his lips and his tongue and enticing a keening noise from the younger man. “I’ll show you how much I love you.”  
  
“I can’t wait.” Harry sighed, stretching languidly and curling his toes in the fur. “Show me what you’ve got.”  
  
“I’ve got you,” Fenrir murmured in Harry’s ear. “My beautiful little princess. But first... I want you to know that I’m not going to make you leave or give up on you, no matter what, and if you don’t want me to touch you or feel scared or just not in the mood or if you want me to suffer and grovel for a while longer, I’d understand. You can say no, little one, any time.”  
  
Harry peered up at him, absently biting his lips. “I don’t think I want to. Say no, that is.”  
  
“I wouldn’t mind,” Fenrir insisted.  
  
“You wouldn’t?” Harry asked, and Fenrir noticed the note of hurt and disappointment in his voice.  
  
“Well, maybe I would,” the werewolf amended. “Because I missed you and I want to feel that close to you again, but more than that I want you to be happy.”  
  
“Having sex with you always made me happy,” Harry offered. “And I thought you wanted to show me what making love is like? I’d like you to make good on that promise. Please?”  
  
“Are you sure?” Fenrir asked. “After what I did - ”  
  
“I really don’t want to talk about that any longer,” Harry interrupted him. “You don’t want to fight today. I don’t want to talk.”  
  
“But Harry - ”  
  
“No,” Harry interrupted him again, burying his hands in Fenrir’s hair. “Tomorrow. Later. I don’t care. But now, no more talking. Kiss me!”  
  
“Of course.” Fenrir complied, vaguely amused at Harry’s demanding attitude, and devoured Harry’s mouth once more, rubbing soothingly over the still sharp hipbones.   
  
He slid his lips over the closed eyelids, over Harry’s temples and cheeks, placing a small peck on Harry’s nose. He jerked almost as much as Harry when he tried to kiss a line along his neck and Harry twisted away from him, once again shielding his neck with his hands.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered when Fenrir sighed.  
  
“That’s why I wanted to talk,” Fenrir murmured, earning himself a glare. “Maybe you’re just not ready. And that’s okay. You have no reason to apologise.”  
  
“I don’t need you to make excuses for me or decide how I’m supposed to feel,” Harry snapped. “I just... Four weeks, Fenrir, it’s been four weeks, and I’ve done nothing but think about what happened, and it’s been like that black hole that swallows everything else... I appreciate your concern, but it only makes me feel like a victim, like I have something to be afraid of. And I don’t, do I?”  
  
“Of course not, but you don’t need to prove anything,” Fenrir replied.  
  
“Do you think you do? Is that what this is about?” Harry asked gently. “Because I have to tell you, I didn’t fall in love with this insecure and guilt-ridden version of you.”  
  
“At least it wasn’t the insecure and guilt-ridden version of me that hurt you,” Fenrir grumbled. “I want you to feel safe with me again, little white one. I don’t expect everything to go back to the way it was, in fact, I don’t want that. We’d just make the same mistakes again and fall into the same destructive routine.”  
  
“It wasn’t all bad,” Harry muttered. “Was it?”  
  
“Not at all.” Fenrir smiled slightly. “But I think we should make sure that we’re on the same page with what we want and expect from this relationship before we stumble into it again.”  
  
Harry wet his lips. “Do you want to have sex with me?”  
  
“Yes, but that’s not the kind of agreement I’m talking about, little thing.” Fenrir grinned at Harry’s pout. “I know it isn’t the right time for me to get demanding, but if we do this, if we give this another shot, I want us to be more than just fuck buddies. I want a committed and exclusive relationship.”  
  
“You mean there’ll be strings attached?” Harry asked carefully.   
  
“Major strings, ropes,” Fenrir clarified. “Being friends with benefits is all well and good, but I’d rather be your lover, even if you don’t feel like granting me any benefits just yet.”  
  
Harry bit his lip, shyly glancing up at the werewolf. “Could you say that again, without all those euphemisms and metaphors?”  
  
Fenrir grinned, not resisting the urge to peck Harry’s lips in a quick kiss. “I want you to love me, only me. Everything else, including sex, is secondary.”  
  
“I can still love Remus and Sirius, though, can’t I?” Harry asked uncertainly. “And be friends with... people?”  
  
“Of course,” Fenrir replied gently, knowing whose name Harry had purposefully withheld and strangely touched by that small act of consideration. “As long as I’m the only one you’re in love with.”  
  
“And the only one I make love with?” Harry asked, and Fenrir nodded decisively. “And the same goes for you, too?” Fenrir nodded again, and Harry grinned eagerly. “You’ve got yourself a deal! Now can we **please** have sex? I won’t panic, I’m fine, and most of all I’m horny and it’s not fair that you never wear a shirt.”  
  
Fenrir laughed, but gently turned Harry onto his back and slid his hands under Harry’s sweater, running his hands over the stretched, smooth skin and carefully helped Harry out of his clothes. He folded the sweater and protectively slung it around Harry’s neck and throat, his fingers lingering over Harry’s heart.  
  
“What, going to strangle me now?” Harry teased but relaxed visibly, curling his fingers around Fenrir’s. “I’m not sure if I’m into that kink.”  
  
“No kink,” Fenrir grumbled. “Just until you trust me again. Will you ever trust me again, little one?”  
  
“I’ll try to,” Harry said softly, his green eyes wide and open. “Just might take some time, you know?”  
  
“Thank you,” Fenrir murmured. “Are you comfortable?”  
  
He didn’t wait for a reply, but instead breathed small kisses over Harry’s chest, following the gentle up and down of his breathing down to his navel. Harry moaned, his eyes fluttering close when the werewolf’s fingertips ghosted up his sides in a tender caress while his warm breath sent goose bumps over his skin. Fenrir’s large hands rested lightly on his rounded stomach as his mouth wandered lower, foregoing Harry’s groin to kiss and lick the inside of his thighs.  
  
Harry trashed, whimpering and fisting his hands in the fur. “Fenrir, don’t be a tease.”  
  
“Of course, my little moonlight,” Fenrir said with amusement, kissing the tip of Harry’s erection before engulfing it and drawing a surprised shout from the younger man.  
  
He carefully sheathed his teeth before he experimentally twirled his tongue around the hard length, bobbing his head in Harry’s lap to give the younger man as much pleasure as possible. He easily kept Harry’s hips in place, though he was careful not to leave bruises this time.  
  
Harry groaned piteously. “I... I can’t... I’m going to... Stop...”  
  
Fenrir drew back briefly with a satisfied smirk. “Then come, my little wolf.”  
  
He swallowed Harry once again, suckling and licking, while massaging the tightening balls with his free hand, until Harry tumbled over the edge with a shout and a blissful sigh, slumping into the fur as his body trembled with pleasure. Fenrir rumbled happily as he swallowed all that Harry could give him, milking the young Animagus of the very last drop.  
  
While Harry was recovering, Fenrir moved up to claim Harry’s mouth in a gentle but invasive kiss, allowing the slender man to taste himself on his tongue. Harry mewled, his fingers digging into Fenrir’s shoulder for purchase as he tried to pull the werewolf closer. Fenrir gave a little bit though he made sure not to crush Harry under his weight. Fenrir pressed a tender kiss to Harry’s belly button before kissing a slow spiral over the younger man’s abdomen, mouthing the small, dark nipples while he reached into the back pocket of his jeans.  
  
“You’re wearing far too many clothes,” Harry murmured, noting this move, and reached for the waistband of Fenrir’s jeans, but the werewolf gently captured Harry’s hands. “What, does making love mean that you keep your clothes on?” Harry asked sarcastically. “I think I’d prefer old-fashioned sex if that’s the case.”  
  
“Harry, my little quirky one, do shut up,” Fenrir grumbled, kissing Harry’s fingers before releasing him.   
  
The black-haired man pouted, looking at Fenrir with big green eyes that could be anyone’s undoing. But since Fenrir wouldn’t budge, he resigned himself to his fate, obediently rolling to his side when Fenrir’s hands guided him in that position.  
  
“This isn’t about me,” Fenrir murmured in his ear. “Only about you and maybe a tiny bit about us. Just close your eyes and enjoy.”  
  
With sure strokes but little force he began to massage Harry’s back, kneading out the knots and soothing the oil over the tense muscles. He traced the fine bones and alternated between large rubbing circles and punctual pressure. Judging by the sounds that escaped Harry and his proceeding level of relaxation, his technique was all right.  
  
When he finally trailed one oil-coated finger between Harry’s rounded arse cheeks, teasing the puckered entrance, Harry only gave a contented moan, pushing back against him and welcoming the digit that slowly pressed into him.  
  
“Please...”  
  
“Of course, my moonlight beauty.” Fenrir unhurriedly moved the single finger in and out of Harry, carefully easing the passage. “Just a bit more patience. Are you in discomfort?”  
  
“No, dammit,” Harry groused, pushing back against the werewolf. “Get a move on.”  
  
“Tell me, do you love me?” Fenrir demanded as he added a second finger.  
  
“Less and less with every second you’re wasting,” Harry complained, and the werewolf chuckled in amusement. “Of course I do. Now stop torturing me. I’m ready.”  
  
“I tend to disagree,” Fenrir murmured, leaning down to kiss Harry’s shoulder. “Say it. Say the words.”  
  
Harry groaned, glaring half-heartedly over his shoulder. “Would you like a bunch of flowers as well? When did you turn into such a girl?”  
  
Fenrir growled testily, crooking his fingers and twisting them viciously. Harry yelped in surprise, then shuddered and whimpered blissfully.   
  
“I don’t want to deal with your walls tonight, Harry,” Fenrir whispered tenderly in his ear. “I know you think you need them, but loving someone is not about keeping yourself protected. And telling me that you love me is not a weakness. Do you love me?”  
  
Harry sighed, wriggling experimentally before Fenrir’s free hand on his hip stilled him. “Fine. I love you, Fenrir Greyback, but if you don’t fuck me right now, I’m going to hex you senseless.”  
  
Fenrir laughed softly. “No fucking, my sweet human, just lots of love.”  
  
“Whatever, Fenrir, now!” Harry shouted impatiently and moaned in pleasure and annoyance when the werewolf added yet another finger, scissoring cautiously. “You’re killing me.”  
  
“Just a little death.” Fenrir smirked as he pressed the fourth finger into Harry. “And it won’t be painful, very pleasurable, in fact. Wouldn’t you agree, little thing?”  
  
Harry’s answer was a suppressed keening sound that went straight to Fenrir’s groin. Fenrir growled lowly, turning and twisting his fingers until he finally deemed Harry sufficiently prepared to make their joining painless for the slender man. He quickly slipped out of his jeans and coated his erection in oil. Then he lifted Harry’s leg onto his hip, sidling closer to the green-eyed wizard.  
  
“Harry?” Fenrir murmured, aligning his erection with Harry’s stretched entrance. “I love you, too.”  
  
One smooth thrust and he felt that welcoming heat around him once more, that clinging warmth that encompassed and cradled him so perfectly, moving with and against his unhurried strokes, urging him on, enjoying, slowing him down. One of his hands kept Harry’s leg in place while the other cushioned Harry’s head and his lips caressed the soft patch of skin behind Harry’s delicately shaped ear.   
  
Their love making was slow and sensual, full of deep affection and small, loving touches that made the air sizzle with magic and passion. Harry’s pale form almost glowed in the light of the waning moon, and Fenrir’s darker skin glistened with sweat as the play of his muscles sent shadows dancing over his broad back. Harry fitted like custom-made in his arms and the scent of arousal and sex permeated Fenrir’s nostrils, causing his eyes to darken in pleasure.   
  
“My little love, come for me,” Fenrir growled.  
  
The other man clawed at his arm as he was swept away by his second release, and Fenrir roared, pushing completely into the clenching depth, as he spilled his seed into his lover, his mate, climaxing at the same time as Harry.  
  
The werewolf buried his nose in Harry’s sweaty curls, sniffing his unique scent as he rocked slowly in and out of his lover, his erection filling out again. He was surprised when Harry tensed and he drew back to look Harry in the eye and to eliminate any threat Harry might perceive from him being too close to his neck.  
  
“Little white wolf, what is it?”  
  
“Just go ahead,” Harry murmured lowly, his eyes closed against Fenrir’s inquisitive ones.  
  
“With what?” Fenrir demanded, slipping out of his lover and turning him onto his back; his fingers rubbed over Harry’s cheek bones.  
  
“Round two,” Harry muttered. “I don’t mind. We both know that I’ll never be able to keep up with you, so go ahead.”  
  
“If you have strength for only once that is more than enough for me.” Fenrir kissed him tenderly before he lay down next to him and pulled Harry’s head to rest on his chest. “You should have said something. I never wanted you to feel... used?”  
  
Harry nodded hesitantly, and Fenrir sighed, pressing his lips into the soft black hair.  
  
“It’s just... You never give me time to recover,” Harry muttered. “I can get it up again, I can, but...”  
  
Fenrir’s laugh rumbled in his chest. “Of course, my sweet human, I would never doubt your excitability.”  
  
Harry glared at him, harshly tweaking one of Fenrir’s nipples. He smirked in triumph when Fenrir hissed in pleasurable pain.   
  
“Insensitive prick.”  
  
“Let’s not get cheeky,” Fenrir admonished, inserting one muscled thigh between Harry’s slim legs. “You can have all the time you need, but you cannot honestly expect me to keep my hands off of you while I wait. You’re just too tempting.”  
  
“Of course, blame it on me that you’re horny,” Harry complained, snuggling into the werewolf and teasingly trailing his hand to Fenrir’s erection and stroking leisurely.  
  
Fenrir groaned before he pointed out, “If I remember correctly you’re the one who insisted we have sex because of your horniness. I’m just being accommodating.”  
  
“That you are,” Harry hummed happily. “And you give it your everything, don’t you?”  
  
“You deserve nothing less,” Fenrir replied earnestly and then tugged Harry’s head up for a kiss.   
  
Harry smirked, biting Fenrir’s bottom lip before suckling lightly on it. Fenrir cradled the back of Harry’s head to keep him in place as he almost ruthlessly pushed into Harry’s mouth, battling the younger man for dominance.  
  
“Round two,” Harry panted, squeezing the werewolf’s erection before moving to straddle his stomach.  
  
Fenrir growled, grasping Harry by the hips and carefully lowered him onto his erection, watching with fascination as Harry threw his head back and reached behind him to stabilise himself on Fenrir’s thighs. The silver-haired man left it to Harry to move to his leisure, instead stroking Harry’s arousal, his hand sometime straying up and down Harry’s thighs.  
  
“So tame, Fenrir,” Harry murmured mockingly, impaling himself once more and erupting into a delighted moan as Fenrir’s erection hit his prostate. “Lazy bastard, making a pregnant person do all the work.”  
  
“Somehow I have to keep you busy, don’t I, little wild thing?” Fenrir asked, tugging on Harry’s erection, whereupon the younger man squeezed his muscles around him in response. “Though, if you need my help...”  
  
Harry glared at him, pushing Fenrir back down when the werewolf made to reverse their positions. “Stay down. This is my turn.”  
  
Fenrir sent him a lazy smirk, flicking his thumb over the head of Harry’s erection. “I guess I’ll just enjoy the view then.”  
  
Fenrir kept up his casual strokes, and Harry rode himself to completion. “Fenrir,” he cried, finally slumping, sated, onto the werewolf’s chest. “Fenrir,” he whispered more quietly.  
  
Now, Fenrir reversed their position, thrusting a few more times into the delicate youth, crushing his lips to Harry’s when he climaxed. He then pulled out of his moonlight beauty, rolled off of Harry and bedded him against his side.  
  
“Sweet one?” Fenrir murmured, tracing Harry’s backbone and his shoulder blades.  
  
Harry hummed to show that he was listening, tiredly blinking one eye open.  
  
“Why do you call me ‘Fenrir’?” the werewolf asked. “Not ‘wolfie’, not ‘my Alpha’, not ‘big bad wolf’, not even ‘Fen’. Why so formal?”  
  
Harry shrugged. “Don’t know. It doesn’t come naturally anymore. Sorry.”  
  
Fenrir sighed. “I guess I ruined that all on my own. Just know that you’re welcome to call me anything you want.”  
  
“I might take you up on that offer, sooner or later.” Harry smirked at him, putting his chin on his folded hands over Fenrir’s chest, who put his arms around the slender man’s waist. “Grandmother, grandmother, what big arms you have!”  
  
For a second, Fenrir was confused but then he grinned. “All the better to hug you with, Little Red Riding Hood.”  
  
“And what big ears you have, Grandmother!” Harry grinned back.  
  
“All the better to hear those sweet sounds you make, Little Red.”  
  
“What big, golden eyes you have, Grandmother!”  
  
“All the better to feast upon your sight, my Little Red.”  
  
“Grandmother, what a big nose you have,” Harry said, tapping Fenrir’s nose.  
  
“All the better to smell your sweet scent, my little one.”  
  
“What a big mouth you have, Grandmother!”  
  
“All the better to kiss you with, my little beautiful one,” Fenrir grumbled, doing just that with enthusiasm. “But you forget something else that is big about me and I just know what I can do with that.” He bucked up, rubbing his hardening cock against Harry’s hip.  
  
Harry laughed. “I was saving the best for last. Show me what you can do with that big cock of yours, Fenrir.”  
  
ö_ö_ö  
  
“Harry?”  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“Are you sure you want to forgive me?”  
  
“You ask that now?” Harry’s eyes were bright with laughter.  
  
“I can be rather selfish,” Fenrir admitted sheepishly, caressing Harry’s butt with his large hand. “Plus, you said you didn’t want to talk.”  
  
“Who says I want to talk now?” Harry demanded, sighing happily and pressing his cheek against Fenrir’s chest. “I’m too comfortable for such serious conversations.”  
  
“Is it a serious conversation?” Fenrir asked uncertainly.  
  
“Knowing you, it will be,” Harry mumbled. “But yes, I’m sure.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
Harry groaned, pointedly arching his eyebrows. “Can’t you just be happy?”  
  
“Is it such a difficult question?” Fenrir asked, now stroking over the small of Harry’s back.  
  
“No,” Harry admitted, huffing out a breath. “I overheard your conversation with Bryan, you know? He said something along the lines of Alphas being there to fix problems not to create them... he didn’t help you. I appreciate your pack’s support, I do, and I don’t want to criticise them because I know that this isn’t easy for them, either, but I have Remus and Sirius and a whole lot of other people who are there for me when I have a problem, and you have no-one. All because you’re a fucking Alpha and Alphas don’t have problems, right?”  
  
“I’m not sure I’m following,” Fenrir answered hesitantly.  
  
“I don’t want you as my Alpha,” Harry said, tensing slightly and glancing uncertainly up at the werewolf. “You’re my friend, my lover, my partner? You’re allowed to make mistakes, you’re allowed to have problems and I don’t always need you to save the day.”  
  
“Don’t you?” Fenrir asked teasingly, kissing Harry’s nose. “So you forgave me to show me that making mistakes is okay, even for me?”  
  
“You were starting to get that look in your eyes again. The one you had in Azkaban. I don’t want you hurting.” He smiled apologetically. “I’m not really that good at holding grudges.”  
  
“Luckily for me,” Fenrir murmured, breathing a kiss over Harry’s brow. “I’ll prove to you that I deserve a second chance. I won’t screw up again.”  
  
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Harry rolled his eyes before closing them again. “Can I sleep now?”


	31. Solidarity

“My jeans don’t fit anymore,” Harry complained, giving up on trying to button up his pants and instead tugging his large sweater over his waist.

Fenrir stepped behind him, resisting the urge to kiss the milky neck. “You’re still beautiful, and I wouldn’t mind if you forewent the jeans in future... I might have to blindfold the others, though.”

Harry snorted. “Go figure.”

“I guess we could go shopping instead,” Fenrir offered. “But only if I still get to see you naked at least twice a day. Let’s head back, alright? Before the others start to worry about you.”

“Remus wouldn’t have let me go with you if he thought there was something to worry about,” Harry pointed out, slipping into Fenrir’s embrace. “And you were in league with Sirius anyway, weren’t you?”

“You noticed that?” Fenrir asked, and Harry rolled his eyes. “Of course you did. I know you’ve forgiven me, little one, but that doesn’t mean that the others have. You’re not the only one whose trust I betrayed and it’ll be some time until they feel truly comfortable leaving the two of us alone.”

Harry furrowed his brow, but gave a small nod. “Then we’ll earn that trust back, together.”

Fenrir cupped Harry’s face in his hands, gently tilting it up to breathe a soft kiss over his lips. Harry sighed, lifting up onto his tiptoes to press his lips more firmly against Fenrir’s, but instead he winced and dropped back onto the flat soles of his feet with a small curse.

“You okay, moonlight?” Fenrir grumbled in concern, grasping Harry’s hips more firmly.

“You don’t honestly expect me to walk, do you?” Harry asked, absently rubbing his butt before hitting Fenrir for his satisfied smirk. “That’s not funny, you big brute. I can barely stand without wincing.”

“Maybe we should lay back down then?” Fenrir murmured suggestively in Harry’s ear.

“Go fuck yourself,” Harry snapped, disentangling himself but then grimaced as his sore body protested the movement. “Dammit, Fenrir, don’t just stand there. Help me.”

“Of course, pretty human,” Fenrir replied, still with a smirk in his voice, scooping Harry up and into his arms. “And I wanted to say... Thank you for tonight.”

Harry hummed, pressing a small kiss to Fenrir’s chin. “I know. Thank you for sweeping me off my feet.” He grinned, kissing Fenrir again, on the lips this time.

Fenrir chuckled. “Always and with pleasure, beautiful moonlight.”

Harry rested his head back on his shoulder, his long legs looped around Fenrir’s waist.

“Comfortable?” Fenrir asked in amusement, walking back to the pack with the precious burden in his arms.

“Hm, yes,” Harry mumbled. “But I **am** sore.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Fenrir assured him. “And even if not, this’ll make one hell of an impression on the others.” He winked at the younger man, who laughed softly in reaction to his conspiratorial tone. “Close your eyes, relax and if you could afford one or two more kisses for me, I wouldn’t be averse, either.”

Harry pressed his small nose against Fenrir’s neck, darting out his tongue to taste the salty skin. “Oh, I almost forgot. We stink like sex. I should do a spell...”

“No,” Fenrir protested. “This smell is perfect. You’re mine and everyone is to know that.”

“But - “

“Don’t be ashamed,” Fenrir interrupted him. “I wear your scent proudly.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Fine, but you can explain that to Remy.”

Fenrir laughed. “I doubt he’ll need an explanation, silly thing.”

Harry grumbled, closing his eyes again, but relaxed into Fenrir sure, even steps, trusting the werewolf to take him safely back to the pack. When he was finally set down, he was sleepy and swayed on his feet, leaning back against Fenrir to keep his balance. The werewolf pressed a kiss to Harry’s temple.

“I’ll be right back. Wait for me, okay?” he asked, waiting for Harry’s nod before he quickly walked to Chetan and Sawyer’s hut to get Harry’s things.

There was a small nest of furs in one of the corners that smelled strongly like Harry. A neatly folded pile of clothes and a cardboard box with papers and knick-knacks was next to it. Fenrir gathered everything, even the furs and then walked back out to find Harry in the arms of Sirius and surrounded by the other werewolves, who parted slowly but without hesitation to let him pass.

Harry welcomed him with an annoyed glare, and Fenrir smirked back, putting Harry’s things under one arm so that the other one was free for the young Animagus.

“I wanted to show you something,” Fenrir offered. “It’s something the pack and I made for you and the cub.”

“But it’s not finished yet, Alpha,” Tristan spoke up, making Fenrir wonder if that meant he’d got through the silent treatment. “We still need to - ”

“It is now. I worked on it,” Fenrir replied calmly. “Everything is ready. You want to see it, little white one?”

Harry perked up, looking around at their friendly faces. “What is it?”

“Why don’t you look for yourself?” Chetan asked, rocking excitedly on his heels and then bounded over to the Alpha’s hut.

Harry took a deep breath, glancing nervously up at his lover. “You want me to stay out here?” Fenrir asked gruffly. “I thought you’d be okay with sharing a hut with me again.”

“Just bad memories.” Harry shrugged, tugging on Fenrir’s hand with an unsure smirk. “Remember that united front, dear. Come on, show me your surprise.”

“You’ll like it,” Sirius declared, smiling at his godson.

“If I enter and a bucket of green goo lands on my head, I’m going to kill you,” Harry deadpanned. “If it’s orange as well.”

“What if it’s yellow?” Sirius asked curiously.

“I’ll kill you.”

“And violet?”

“Sirius, don’t stretch it,” Remus warned him. “Cub, it’s a nice surprise, no pranks. You’ll like it.”

Harry smiled at him and then joined Chetan, nudging the werewolf out of the way; Chetan laughed and reached up to tussle Harry’s hair. “So Harry, what do you think the surprise will be?”

The young man grinned. “If I had to hazard a guess I would imagine that it has something to do with the Disillusionment Charm you so carefully erected at the side of this hut and a little into the forest.”

Chetan’s face fell, and he pouted. “We were so careful. Remus, you said your magic would do the trick.”

Harry shrugged. “I got more sensitive with... with this.” He motioned vaguely to his stomach. “Besides, Remus wouldn’t hurt me so I didn’t investigate. Can I go in now?”

“Excited?” Sawyer asked in amusement, cuffing Chetan around the ears to make him stop grinning like a fool. “Well, then, go ahead or is the door too heavy for you?”

Harry stuck out his tongue at the black-haired werewolf, reached out for Fenrir’s hand and pushed the door open, cautiously peering inside.

The hut was not quite what he remembered, the first reason being that soft light flickered on as soon as the door swung completely open. It wasn’t so harsh that it would have made Harry blink and squeeze his eyes shut to protect them, but just bright enough to illuminate the changed interior and bridge the time that Harry’s eyes had always needed to adjust. The floor was now covered with soft furs that tinkled with Cleaning and Dirt Absorption Charms; the sleeping furs had been transferred to another corner so neatly folded that they looked unused; two open cupboards stood against the side walls, and Fenrir moved to drop Harry’s things in the empty one.

Harry carefully stepped into the room, toeing of his shoes and immediately sensing the warmth of the furs, and he closed his eyes in bliss.

“Harry, don’t you like it?” Fenrir asked with a nervous growl in his voice, slinging his arms around Harry. “Do you feel faint? Are you okay?”

“I’m enjoying having warm feet,” Harry murmured. “Stop worrying. I like it. Thank you.”

Fenrir grunted. “You haven’t seen everything yet, pretty human.”

“Hm, door. What’s behind it?” Harry asked, comfortably leaning against the werewolf.

“Go, open it,” Fenrir urged, nudging Harry in the back and then quickly catching Harry when he stumbled. “Don’t fall.”

Harry rolled his eyes, shaking off Fenrir’s hands around his waist and walked over to the door, carefully pushed it open; and gasped. The room that lay behind the door was not as big as the main room, but just as comfortably and generously equipped with a carpet of sheep furs. There even were two large glass windows set into the wooden walls that allowed the light of the day to stream into the little nursery and fall onto the baby’s changing table. The little cupboard against one wall had carved wolves and deer inlayed on the doors and little figurines on top. There also was a carefully crafted crib with perfectly white linen and a large rocking chair.

“Wow!” Harry exclaimed, dropping himself in the rocking chair and grinning up at them. “You made all of this yourself? It’s great! Thank you.”

“You like it, little white one?” Fenrir grumbled. “We can change it if you don’t like something.”

“No, it’s perfect,” Harry protested hastily, reaching out for Fenrir. “I love it, wolfie.”

Fenrir beamed at him, lifting Harry up so that he was able to sit in the rocking chair and pull Harry into his lap. “Came naturally this time, little wizard?”

“Almost,” Harry stated with a small smirk, rearranging Fenrir’s arms around him and ducking his head under the werewolf’s chin. “I really like this. Thank you, all of you. I appreciate it.”

“You’re very welcome, Harry,” Maya answered, supporting Bryan against her side.

The old werewolf had one of his better days, standing on slightly shaky legs next to his mate, but at the sight of the nursery his face had also seemed to brighten with the thought of the little cub that would eventually live here. He smiled at Harry and then also at Fenrir.

“Bryan carved most of the figurines,” Fenrir explained to Harry, meeting the white-haired werewolf’s gaze to convey his gratitude.

“Really? They’re beautiful,” Harry murmured, summoning an intricately carved wolf into his hands and tracing his perked ears reverently. “Thank you.”

“I’m glad you like them and that you and the Alpha sorted out your differences,” Bryan replied gently. “The child will have a peaceful and safe home here.”

Harry nodded, squeezing Fenrir’s hand, who pressed a kiss to Harry’s temple. “Safe and peaceful. How does that sound to you, beautiful one?”

“Boring.” Harry grinned, and Chetan laughed.

“He’s right, Alpha,” the young werewolf agreed, dropping to his knees next to the rocking chair and rested his head against Harry’s stomach, a habit he had taken up while Harry had been sharing a hut with him and Sawyer; he ignored Fenrir’s testy growl. “I can hear the baby’s heartbeat, did you know that, Alpha?”

“No,” Fenrir admitted, caressing Harry’s side.

“Then come, listen to it,” Chetan suggested, pulling back to vacate his spot.

“You alright with this?” Fenrir asked Harry.

“Sure, go ahead,” Harry murmured, sitting sideways so that Fenrir could lean over his stomach and put his ear to his belly.

He was surprised when a hard chest suddenly supported his back and as he craned his neck to see who it was, he met Sawyer’s deep yellow eyes. “Just me, Harry,” Sawyer said gruffly. “Wouldn’t want you to topple over, would we?”

Harry scowled at him, burying his hands in Fenrir’s silver hair, who was listening intently to their baby’s heartbeat. “Fenrir wouldn’t let me fall.”

“He still might need a little help, though,” Sawyer offered with an unapologetic shrug. “You’re quite a handful.”

“Thank you, Sawyer,” Fenrir grumbled, not lifting his head from Harry’s belly, but reaching out to place one of his hands over Harry’s.

“I want to listen, too,” Chetan declared, resting his head back against Harry’s stomach, cheek to cheek with Fenrir.

“Oh, honestly! I’m not a pillow.” Harry exclaimed, pushing both werewolves away from him so that he could tap his wand against his stomach.

With a murmured spell, he conjured up the ultrasonic screen, and a second charm made the baby’s heartbeat audible for everyone in the room. He got comfortable in Fenrir’s lap again, critically surveying the screen before closing his eyes.

“Isn’t that the trick the healer usually uses?” Fenrir asked, tenderly trailing his fingers through Harry’s hair but retreating immediately when Harry shuddered and winced because he had come to close to his neck.

“Healer Lestrange taught me how to do it. So that I can check if everything is alright if I have a bad feeling,” Harry replied.

“You have that often, a bad feeling?” Fenrir sighed when Harry only shrugged. “I’ll take care of you now.”

“Of course you will, and you’ll annoy me with your constant worrying because, if you believe me or not, I’m very well able to take care of myself,” Harry argued, crossing his arms over his chest. “Don’t start that again, Fenrir.”

“I’m not starting anything,” Fenrir protested, sighing when Harry glared at him. “Maybe I should just stop?”

“That would be great indeed,” Harry agreed teasingly. “I don’t have a bad feeling now... Fen.”

That charmed another smile onto Fenrir’s face, but then he saw something on the screen that made him scowl. “Your numbers are yellow. They’re supposed to be green.”

“They are green. Bright green,” Harry protested. “I’m fine.”

“More like orange, if you ask me,” Chetan offered unhelpfully, earning himself a glare.

“Well, I’m not. I’m fine. The full moon was only yesterday. It’s no wonder I’m feeling a bit under the weather,” Harry insisted.

“You should have said something! Why didn’t you go to your healer? You might have internal bleeding or - “

“Because of the baby? Certainly not.” Harry sent Fenrir a crooked smile that went completely ignored.

“This is not funny, stupid little human,” Fenrir growled. “Why don’t you take care of yourself? Why didn’t you go to the healer?”

Harry shrugged again. “I thought you were angry with me.”

“I wasn’t angry and what kind of reason is that?!” Fenrir demanded. “Just because someone is angry with you, it’s no reason to completely disregard your own health.”

“I had other problems, okay? I thought you would kick me out. Whether or not I was feeling a bit queasy was not the top of my concerns,” Harry retorted.

“Shh, small one - ”

“Don’t ‘shh’ me!” Harry interrupted him. “Don’t fucking portray me as if I’m irresponsible because it’s me who has to be mindful about **everything**! You can get into fights and you can sulk and you can do everything you damn well please, while I have to be careful and cheery so that none of you gets the idea that I’m not handling this pregnancy as well as I should.”

“Quiet, little sweet wolf,” Fenrir grumbled, holding Harry against his chest and folding thin hands against Harry’s rounded stomach; he wrapped himself completely around the younger man, effectively keeping him in place.  “I know I haven’t been there for you as much as I should have, but that will change now. But you have to stay calm.”

“Dammit, let me go,” Harry demanded, struggling to free his hands to cup his neck once again. “Let me go. Let me go.”

Fenrir drew back as if burned, allowing Harry to slip from his lap and to the floor. “Harry, shit... This worked before.”

“Well, sorry to tell you that it doesn’t anymore,” Harry snapped testily, pulling his legs to his chest and away from Chetan’s touch.

“Cub?” Remus crouched down in front of Harry and with a few practised touches that made Fenrir believe that this hadn’t been the first time he had done this got Harry to uncurl and relax into his arms. “We all know that you’re doing everything you can and more for the baby, but what I would really like you to do, what the Alpha intended to say, is for you to look out for yourself as well.”

“I am,” Harry murmured defiantly. “It’s not as bad as you make it out to be.”

“Of course not, cub,” Remus whispered patiently. “How about we first get off the floor and then you can tell us where you need and want our help and where not?”

Fenrir vacated his chair to let Remus sit down with Harry, clenching and unclenching his hands before he finally sat down at Harry’s feet. He was surprised when one of Harry’s hands found its way back into his hair.

“Not your fault,” Harry whispered. “You’ve done more than enough for me.”

“No, I haven’t.” Fenrir briefly closed his eyes, realising that he couldn’t say everything he wanted Harry to know. “You needed me this last month and gave you **time** instead.”

“I know you meant well. You always do,” Harry replied with a hint of amusement in his voice. “And you did agree to fight with me. That doesn’t work if you’re too afraid of hurting me.” He slipped from Remus’ embrace and into Fenrir’s lap, pressing a long kiss to the werewolf’s lips. “I need someone to take my mood swings out on, I told you that before. So just get into your thick skull that I’m not made of glass.”

“No, you’re made of something else entirely.” Fenrir grinned, carefully blowing his warm breath into Harry’s ear. “My little one, we can fight all you want, but I don’t want to scare you. And let me and the pack take care of you as well, let us help you.”

“I don’t need to be taken care of. I’m an adult,” Harry declared, crossing his arms and covertly shifting his neck away from Fenrir’s face.

“Even adults need help from time to time,” Remus offered. “I’m happy that the pack is here to look out for me and help me if I need it.”

“And Remus is here if one of us needs him,” Tristan added.

“You would help us, too, wouldn’t you, Harry?” Chetan demanded.

“Of course. That’s not the point,” Harry protested.

“I think that’s exactly the point, little moonlight,” Fenrir rumbled. “You’re part of the pack, and we keep together and take care of each other.”

“And who takes care of you?” Harry challenged. “Who is there for you when you need help?”

“All of you, in your own way,” Fenrir answered carefully, realising that Harry wouldn’t agree with him. “You help me just by being there, by giving me a purpose. What would I be without you? Just another animal to be put down as soon as possible.”

“You’re not an animal,” Harry said forcefully, and Fenrir laughed.

“And you’re not our charity case. You’re one of us... well, more or less, I guess,” he added, very, very tenderly nipping Harry’s earlobe. “Pretty wizard, but my pretty wizard.”

Harry sighed, running his hands through his hair. “I guess we could go to the Healer now.”

Fenrir pressed a kiss to Harry’s temple. “How about we all go together?”

“Great,” Chetan exclaimed. “I want to see the baby again. Come on, Harry.”

Fenrir roared angrily when Chetan tried to take Harry from him, pushing the younger werewolf away from them.

“Sorry, Alpha,” Chetan mumbled sheepishly. “I just wanted to take Harry piggy-back.”

Fenrir’s eyes were still narrowed, but he forced himself to remain calm instead nudging Harry’s cheek with his nose. “You want to, little one?”

Harry grinned, quickly pecking Fenrir on the lips before he fluidly climbed on Chetan’s back, wrapping his arms around his strong neck. Chetan slung his arms under Harry’s knees, easily getting up.

“Ready?”

“Yeah.” Harry laughed. “Go, go, before I figure out for who of us this is more embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing? I don’t even know the meaning of that word,” Chetan declared with a care-free smile. “How do you spell that?”

“What do you think?”

“E.M.B.A.R.A -“

“Two ‘r’s,” Harry corrected.

“Okay, then. E.M.B.A. Double R. A?... Double S. I. N. And G,” Chetan finished proudly, jogging quickly around the clearing while he waited for the others to follow them. “You okay up there?”

“Yes,” Harry said. “I just might get sick if you continue jostling me.”

Chetan laughed, but slowed down. “Sick, you say? Are you sure it isn’t something else? Had a wild night, Harry?”

“Oh, shut up,” Harry muttered with a blush. “You wanted me to make up with Fenrir.” He turned to glare at the Alpha werewolf, who approached them with a satisfied smirk on his face. “This is all your fault!”

“Of course it is. I wouldn’t allow anyone else to take credit for it.” Fenrir grinned broadly, relishing in Harry’s rosy cheeks. “Why, wild one, I didn’t know you had the blushing virgin act quite down to a par.”

Without taking note of Harry’s glare or protests, he tugged Harry away from Chetan, causing him to tumble into his own arms. He cut off all further protests with a forceful kiss, pressing Harry’s lithe body against his own and running his hands all over it. A half-whimper rose from Harry’s throat, and Fenrir drew back with a smirk.

“There, there, my little moonlight.” Fenrir cradled him to his chest. “Don’t worry I’ll be gentle with my sweet virgin.”

Harry glared at him, boxing him against his chest when Fenrir only grinned more widely. “Shut up.”

“Why don’t you make me?” Fenrir challenged.

“Because you aren’t worth it,” Harry retorted, and Fenrir growled playfully, his hands possessively splayed over the small of Harry’s back as he snapped their hips together.

“Then why are you selling yourself cheap, pretty one?” the werewolf challenged.

“I’m not selling myself at all,” Harry replied, swirling one of his fingers around Fenrir’s nipple. “I’m a present.”

“Hm, when do I get to unwrap you?” Fenrir grumbled seductively, slipping a hand down the back of Harry’s jeans to massage the firm buttocks.

“Hey, stop molesting my godson!” Sirius called, and Harry pulled back with a deep blush. “I thought we wanted to get Harry to a check up? I don’t see that happening the way you’re going.”

Fenrir lazily bared his teeth at the Animagus, taking Harry back into his arms and wrapping his warm body around the slim figure. He ran his strong fingers through Harry’s pitch-black hair and pressed a kiss to Harry’s forehead.

“Ready to go?” he asked gently, scooping Harry up bridal style. “Don’t protest, little wolf, I know you’re still sore and I don’t want you hurting.”

“Maybe you should have thought of that last night,” Harry muttered, but a smile was playing about his lips when Fenrir kissed him once again in a half-hearted apology.


	32. Confirmation

“Mr. Potter,” Rudolphus greeted Harry almost cheerfully, welcoming the others with a warm smile. “Take a seat; I’ll be with you in a minute.”

Harry had hardly hopped onto the bed when Rudolphus returned, supporting his younger brother with his arm.

“Ah, that has you so happy, Healer.” Harry smiled at the long-term patient. “It’s good to see you up and awake, Mr. Lestrange.”

Rabastan merely nodded, moving with jerky movements as Rudolphus directed him into a chair and got him comfortable. “I’ll stay within sight, little brother, you don’t have to worry.”

A minute nod was his answer, but when he turned around to face Harry, Rabastan got up again, hovering behind him like a shadow. “Stay,” he croaked.

“Yes, I’m staying. I was just going to attend Mr. Potter,” Rudolphus replied calmly.

“No. I stay,” Rabastan insisted. “With you.”

“It’s okay,” Harry intervened before Rudolphus could make another attempt at convincing his brother. “Maybe you would like to sit on the chair next to the bed, Mr. Lestrange?”

Rabastan looked appealingly at his brother, who smiled encouragingly at the younger man, causing Rabastan to carefully sit down on the edge of the indicated chair.

“Well then, Mr. Potter, any grievances? I’m surprised you did not come immediately after the full moon,” Rudolphus asked Harry, expertly running his wand over Harry’s body.

He then put his wand aside, resting his hands lightly on Harry’s stomach to heal the slight internal injuries Harry had sustained. Harry relaxed, by now used to this treatment, smiling at Fenrir when the werewolf put his pack into order before he claimed the seat right next to Harry for himself. When Rudolphus motioned for Harry to lay down so that he could examine Harry’s abdomen to check for the baby’s position and size, Fenrir took the black-haired man’s head into his lap.

The other werewolves were tense and wary, standing straight and with bunched muscles, their ears almost literally perked. They observed the two Lestranges through narrowed eyes, ready to intervene if necessary. Harry was slightly worried, but also incredibly touched by their protectiveness.

“Congratulations, Mr. Potter, the baby is developing as expected,” Rudolphus confirmed finally. “Have you considered if you would like to know the baby’s gender?”

“You can tell that?” Harry asked while Rudolphus checked his blood pressure, his weight and iron levels.

Rudolphus nodded, conjuring the screen. “Would you like to know, Mr. Potter, Mr. Greyback?"

Harry bit his lip, peering up at Fenrir. “Do you want to know?”

“Yes,” Fenrir said immediately. “Don’t you?”

“Would you rather have a boy or a girl?” Harry asked again.

“I don’t mind either,” Fenrir assured him, having seen, if only for a brief moment, the fear and vulnerability in Harry’s eyes. “But maybe a girl. What do you want the cub to be, little one?”

Harry rested his hand lightly on his stomach, rubbing a slow circle. “It’s a boy.”

“But you don’t know that,” Fenrir argued. “What would you like?”

“Of course, I know that,” Harry argued stubbornly. “It’s a boy so I want a boy.”

Fenrir sighed. “Just don’t be disappointed when it turns out to be a girl after all."

Harry rolled his eyes. “I’m not wrong. I’m carrying this child under my heart, I think I would know if my baby’s male or female so unless you can show me the same credentials, kindly stop contradicting me.”

Fenrir growled very softly, rubbing his fingers over Harry’s cheek bone. Instead of replying, he focused his golden eyes on the healer, who took the hint and enlarged the screen, pointing out the legs and feet, the arms and hands, the softly fluttering heart and finally the sex of the baby.

“Mr. Potter, you’re indeed correct. You’re having a healthy little baby boy,” Rudolphus confirmed, and Harry grinned triumphantly at Fenrir.

“A boy then, my little one,” Fenrir muttered, kissing Harry’s knuckles. “I’m happy with that as well. Just as long as you make sure that he stays healthy. And that you do, too.”

“I’m getting a little brother,” Chetan exclaimed boisterously, throwing his arms around Harry’s middle, disturbing the screen by doing so and giving Rabastan such a freight that he almost jumped out of his skin. “Mind you, I would have welcomed a little girl as well, but a boy is just great. Now I can show him how to go hunting and how to find his way around in the woods and all the things he’ll need to know. I’m not quite sure what you’re supposed to do to entertain little girls.”

Harry laughed and looked at his godfathers. “We’re happy about a boy as well, Harry,” Remus assured him, and Sirius nodded vigorously, his face stretched into a large smile.

“Every child is a blessing,” Bryan declared, looking proud and strong and not like the weakened picture of misery he portrayed when in the privacy of the pack.

“Can you tell us how we can help Harry?” Maya demanded of the healer with her arms crossed over her wide chest.

Rudolphus paid her no attention as he was busy running a soothing hand up and down his brother’s back, trying to make him calm down again. “Easy there, little brother, no one will do you harm. You’re safe here. I’m here.”

Rabastan pressed himself against his body, his long limbs wrapped around his older brother like tendrils of Devil’s Snare.

“I’m sure Chetan didn’t mean to startle you, Mr. Lestrange,” Harry murmured softly after he had lost his staring contest with the blonde werewolf. “I promise he’s quite harmless.”

“Hey,” Chetan exclaimed indignantly. “I could eat him alive, if I wanted to.”

“Not helpful.” Harry glared at him, surprised when Sawyer cuffed the younger werewolf around the ears and pushed him towards Tristan, positioning himself between the blond werewolf and the two Lestranges.

“Be quiet, cub,” Fenrir’s tone left no room for argument. “We’re here for Harry, and you upsetting some wizard isn’t going to get Harry the attention he needs.”

“Sorry,” Chetan mumbled, properly chastised, and smiled sheepishly at Harry.

They descended into a tense silence, waiting for the younger Lestrange to collect himself, which despite his brother’s calming presence seemed to be a very slow process. Harry, knowing how disconcerting it could be to have everyone’s attention on you, conjured the ultrasonic screen, smiling when the pack shifted a little closer to the bed. Fenrir pressed a kiss into his hair and whispered something Harry didn’t understand, but the proud, happy gleam in his golden eyes was quite telling, as was Maya’s cooing, the way Remus squeezed Sirius’ hand, Sawyer’s rumbling purr. It felt very calming, very safe.

Finally, Rudolphus managed to manoeuvre his softly hiccoughing brother into a chair further away from the werewolves, but still within eyesight. He lovingly tucked a blanket around his shoulders and brushed a kiss over his forehead.

“I’ll just be with Mr. Potter for a moment, but I’m not leaving, all right?” he murmured, smoothing his brother’s dark hair. “Do you want me to call Severus to keep you company?”

Rabastan mutely shook his head, reluctantly releasing his grip on his brother’s robe sleeve and staring after him with wide eyes as the healer took a few steps towards the group of werewolves. “I believe you had a question, Madam?” Rudolphus asked, looking expectantly at Maya.

“I want to know how we can better help Harry,” Maya’s voice was surprisingly soft and forgiving, and her eyes darted over to the younger Lestrange before she focused back on the healer.

“Mr. Potter seems to have already an admirable support system,” the healer replied. “I trust he will tell you when he needs or wants something.”

Harry grinned.

“But shouldn’t he eat more?” Maya insisted.

“While I don’t want to deny that it would be recommendable, Mr. Potter should not be forced to eat more than he thinks he can stomach. Though I wouldn’t object if you took care that he eats regularly, even if only small portions,” Rudolphus agreed. “You have not been experiencing anymore nausea, have you, Mr. Potter?”

“No,” Harry mumbled. “I’m feeling fine. And I’m eating enough.”

Fenrir snorted, easily spanning his fingers around the wrist of the hand that had aimed to strike at him. “Something else we can do, Lestrange?"

“If I may suggest taking an antenatal class?” the healer offered, but Harry sniggered.

“I can’t believe you managed to say that with a straight face.”

“I’m quite serious, Mr. Potter,” Rudolphus replied with a slight crease between his eyebrows.

“But I don’t have to give birth. Madam Pomfrey said that I would have a Caesarean. Don’t tell me that I fucking have to give birth!” Harry said, slightly panicky.

“Of course not, Mr. Potter. You will have a Caesarean, but antenatal classes will also give you general information about childbirth and parenthood, show you relaxation and breathing techniques and types of massages. They will also give you a better idea of what is normal and expected and what is not and what exercises can help you through pain and discomfort. Such classes are also a good possibility to involve your partner and come in contact with other parents-to-be. So, yes, I would really suggest you participating in such a class.”

“They’re not that bad, cub,” Sirius tried to cheer him up. “Lily dragged all of us to not one but three antenatal and childcare classes before she allowed us even near you. Thanks to them, I didn’t drop you once.”

“She was afraid that James wouldn’t return from one of our missions and she never wanted you to grow up without two proper parents,” Remus explained softly. “But in any event, antenatal classes are a good idea.”

Harry sighed. “Fine, but I doubt there’re many if any classes like that. And I’m not going to leave the country.”

“You don’t have to,” Rudolphus assured him. “I already did some research and found three classes, two of which are in London where the Dark Lord has erected another portal to and from the Ministry.”

Harry sighed again. “Fine, are there any leaflets?”

Rudolphus handed him three colourful papers, but Harry barely glanced at them before thrusting them at Fenrir. “I’m not going to go alone so you choose.”

Fenrir grunted, trying to decipher the single letters, but his reading abilities were still more than a little rudimentary. Before he could just choose one class at random, however, Harry sat up between his legs, kissing his cheek in apology.

“I’m sorry, I know this concerns me as well. Let me see,” Harry asked; he quickly sorted out one of the leaflets. “This is a class only for me. Why did you even give me that, Healer?”

“In view of your alteration and the resulting uneasiness of your relationship, I was not certain whether you would appreciate Mr. Greyback’s assistance,” the healer explained carefully.

“Well, I’m not going to go there alone,” Harry stated decisively, refusing to dwell on this any longer. “This one sounds nice, doesn’t it? Not quite as formal as the other one and we can have a meeting every Monday for one and a half hours. With the other one we would have a seminar over one weekend. What do you think?”

“Sounds okay,” Fenrir agreed, gratefully kissing Harry’s temple. “Let’s do the one with the single meetings, my little one. I don’t want to leave the pack for an entire weekend.”

“Thought so,” Harry murmured. “Fenrir, I want to say hi to David.”

Fenrir’s broad form tensed and so did Harry, biting his lip until he tasted the tang of blood in his mouth.

“Shh, don’t.” Fenrir put his finger to Harry’s mouth. “I guess if I ever want you to trust me again, I have to start trusting you, won’t I, little moonlight? I’m going to go with you, though.”

Harry laughed softly. “I guess letting me go alone would expect too much of you, wouldn’t it?”

“Have you seen him after the...?”

“Incident?” Harry offered, but Fenrir growled.

“I’m not going to play my betrayal down,” Fenrir argued vehemently.

“And you think reminding me of it every chance you get is doing me a favour?” Harry demanded, pecking Fenrir’s nose. “Let’s put that behind us, hm, wolfie? And I stayed with Malfoy and David before I returned to the pack.”

Fenrir grumbled. “I don’t like it."

“I know, but he’s still my friend so you’ll have to accept that,” Harry stated evenly, squeezing Fenrir’s hand tightly. “But yes, you can come with me.”

“Fine, let’s get it over and done with then,” Fenrir ordered, pulling Harry to his feet before looking at his pack. “Don’t wait for us.”

“I’m sorry this can’t have been very interesting for you.” Harry smiled apologetically at them. “Thank you for coming with me, nonetheless.”

“You know we’re happy to support you any way we can,” Maya told him with a gentle smile. “What would you like to eat for lunch?”

Harry shrugged helplessly. “With the way my stomach has been behaving lately I don’t dare making a prediction. What sounds delicious now may turn my stomach later.”

“That’s quite alright,” Maya appeased him. “Pregnant people are allowed to be a little picky."

“She’s used to it by now.” Sawyer grinned. “And your fickleness leaves more for us.”

“As if you need anymore,” Harry muttered under his breath before turning to the Lestrange brothers. “It was nice meeting you, Mr. Lestrange. Thank you, Healer.”

“I’ll book the course for you and send you an owl with the details,” Rudolphus replied. “Remember our counselling session on Thursday.”

“I will.” Harry nodded obediently though with little enthusiasm and tugged on Fenrir’s hand. “Coming?”

Fenrir quickly took the lead, wrapping his arm around Harry’s waist and when they had left the earshot and sight of the others, Fenrir manoeuvred Harry into an alcove, hungrily attacking the sweet, full lips and pushing his tongue into the younger man’s mouth. He ran his hands over the supple body, finally settling them on Harry’s hips and forcing him backwards until Harry was caught between him and the stone wall.

With practised ease, he held Harry against the wall while he plundered his mouth and caressed his throat and neck. Harry rocked against him, his fingers twisting around in the werewolf’s silver hair and skimming over Fenrir’s shoulders.

“Missed this,” Fenrir growled. “Missed you. We’re going to do this more often.”

Harry laughed softly, scratching his fingernails down the werewolf’s back. “I’d hope so. Uuh, do that again!”

It was Fenrir’s turn to chuckle as he pressed his leg against Harry’s groin, slowly pushing in between Harry’s legs. “Like that, do you? Do you want gentle, princess?”

“Hard and fast will be fine.” Harry smirked, biting into Fenrir’s shoulder when the werewolf tore down his jeans and roughly fisted his erection. “Yesss!”

Fenrir bent his knees lightly to be able to rearrange Harry’s legs around his waist, then once again pushed Harry hard against the wall. He didn’t waste time in giving Harry his fingers to suck on so that there would at least be a bit of lubrication as he pushed first one finger, quickly followed by another two past the tight ring of muscles.

Harry groaned, his eyelids fluttering erratically.

“Potter, fancy meeting you here,” a voice suddenly interrupted them, and Harry squeaked, his eyes snapping open at the same time as his hands snapped up, sending a shadowy, opaque wall soaring up from the floor to hide them from curious eyes.

“Don’t stop, Fen. He can damn well wait,” he ordered, conjuring up bright silver lights so that they weren’t completely in the dark.

Fenrir howled, his incisors lengthening slightly and his eyes yellowing as he ruthlessly replaced his fingers with his erection, bruising Harry’s back with the force with which he pushed into him and the younger man against the wall. The wizard whimpered, digging his fingers desperately into Fenrir’s shoulders.

“Fenrir...”

The werewolf growled, thrusting and grinding furiously into the delicate youth, leaving bruises on the soft skin as he kept Harry’s hips in place. He pushed one last time into that tight, clinging warmth and spilled his seed with a loud roar.

When Fenrir reluctantly released a dazed Harry, setting him down, his eyes were still yellow. He took a half-step back from Harry and turned his head to the side, taking a few deep breaths while trying not to let Harry’s smell overwhelm his senses.

“What the hell was that?” Harry muttered, touching his backside with his fingers that came back with a smear of blood; he grimaced. “What got you so angry? I didn’t do anything.”

“Moonlight,” Fenrir commented and his voice was more like a growl than usual, motioning vaguely to the magical lighting. “Silver lights remind us of moonlight. We get a little... animalistic.”

“Oh, oops? Guess I should have thought of that,” Harry offered, making the lights disappear again, and Fenrir laughed as his eyes slowly returned to their normal golden intensity.

“Didn’t mean to hurt you, though, pretty human,” Fenrir murmured and soothingly ran his hands up and down Harry’s back, tenderly kissing Harry’s lips, licking at the moisture that had collected on Harry’s top lip. “Too hard and fast for you, hm?”

Harry glared at him, raking his fingernails down Fenrir’s chest and drawing a pleasurable growl from the werewolf. “Don’t be so fucking self-satisfied about hurting me!”

“Did I hurt you badly?” Fenrir asked, concern creeping into his voice, and furrowed his brow. “You don’t act as if you’re hurt badly, so how do you expect me to know if you put up that strong facade, little proud one?”

But Harry wasn’t about to allow Fenrir to shift the blame onto him. “You can fucking smell my blood, you saw it on my fingers! What is there to misunderstand?!”

“Shh - “

“Shut the fuck up!” Harry hissed. “I don’t mind hard and fast, but I mind needlessly painful. And this was needlessly painful. Don’t you know the damn difference?”

“I’ll have to relearn it with you,” Fenrir admitted, resting his lips against Harry’s creased forehead.

Harry snorted. “Let’s hope you’re a fast learner or else you’ll break my hips one of these times. Oh, Fenrir, you’re such an idiot.”

Fenrir bared his teeth, nudging his nose against Harry’s cheek in warning affection. “So are you, silly little thing. So are you. Love me, don’t you?”

“Only if you do,” Harry replied with a grin, pecking Fenrir’s lips. “You’ll make it up to me.”

“Sure I will, starting right now,” Fenrir declared, scooping Harry up into his arms and allowing the slim man to rest his head against his shoulder.

Harry waved his hands, opening the curtain of darkness around them. Then he groaned.

“Ah, Potter, finished so soon? I do hope I didn’t interrupt anything of importance... Might I have a word with you?” Voldemort straightened from his reclining position against the wall.

“No,” Harry said shortly. “Fenrir, let’s go.”

“Considering how desperately you cling to even the most untrustworthy and abusive of your friends,” - His narrowed gaze lingered pointedly on Fenrir before he turned back to facing Harry. - “I just assumed you might want to be informed that I decided to relieve myself of some irritating followers. My mistake.”

“I won’t buy that,” Harry declared over Fenrir’s shoulder. “I have you’re wizard’s oath that you won’t kill my friends. Why should I care about your Death Eaters; they sure never gave a damn about me.”

“Ah, yes, I tend to forget about that oath,” Voldemort answered uncaringly. “I suppose I will have to torture them instead.”

“Go ahead,” Harry forced himself to reply.

“We’ll see. Something else: I will expect your presence at the inauguration of the new Ministry, Saturday after next,” Voldemort stated. “Greyback can come too, if he behaves.”

Fenrir growled, but Harry rubbed his fingertips over his strong jaw. “We’ll think about it, but not now.”

“Indeed careful consideration would certainly be in order,” Voldemort said to their departing forms. “Though just as unlikely when it comes to you, Potter.”

“Save your insults for someone who’s interested,” Harry muttered before pressing a teasing kiss against Fenrir’s throat. “Just a little foretaste, do you think you can find another alcove for us?”

“Aren’t you sore, little one?” Fenrir demanded, already steering them towards a darker corridor.

“Hm, I am, but that doesn’t stop me from being horny, does it?” Harry murmured in Fenrir’s ear. “I think you still owe me some pleasure.”

“And in what currency would you like me to pay you back?” Fenrir asked, carefully setting Harry down, hovering above the younger man before tenderly grasping the bony hips. “What would you like, my little brave one?”

“You,” Harry breathed heavily, pressing against the werewolf, sliding his hand down the back of Fenrir’s jeans. “Kiss me.”

Fenrir complied easily, swooping down for a slow, possessive kiss, licking and nipping Harry’s lips before his tongue demanded access to the wizard’s mouth.

“Would you like more kisses or maybe something else, pretty wolf?” Fenrir murmured in amusement when he finally pulled back. “Maybe my mouth on some other body part of yours? Doesn’t that idea sound delicious?”

Harry’s reply was a low, pleading moan, and Fenrir dropped to his knees with a deep chuckle, quickly unbuttoning Harry’s trousers before he changed his mind. Fast was not his mission now. Fast was for another time, for now Harry would have to be patient because he intended to savour every bit of his young lover and make him feel cherished and wanted and loved.

He carefully nuzzled Harry’s groin through the fabric of his pants, running his hands up and down Harry’s thighs, but then he drew back in shock. “Did you even come earlier, little one?”

Harry lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “You know how much I despise talking when we could be doing something much more enjoyable and productive. Get a move on, Fenrir.”

“Harry,” Fenrir growled warningly.

Harry’s eyes narrowed as he pushed Fenrir away from him. “You know, on second thought, I really don’t feel like that anymore. I’ll go visit David.”

He purposefully stalked away, but Fenrir captured him about the waist quickly, rubbing his nose over Harry’s cheek. “You really thought this would work, my beautiful human?” he rumbled, slightly amused despite his concern. “I won’t let you go alone. Forget it.”

Harry sighed, slumping in defeat. “Fine.”

“Don’t pout, my sweet wizard,” Fenrir murmured, kissing the corner of Harry’s mouth. “It’s much too adorable as that I could resist you more than a moment longer.”

The black-haired man sighed again and then pushed away from the werewolf. “Later. I really want to see David.”

Fenrir growled. “I really don’t want you to.”

“I know.” Harry smiled. “But you trust me, don’t you, Fenrir?”

“I really wished you would stop calling me that. It’s like a shot of silver whenever you do,” Fenrir said.

“It’s your name.”

“It means that you’re afraid of me,” Fenrir insisted stubbornly. “And I hate that I gave you a reason to fear me.”

“I’m not afraid,” Harry argued, then sighed. “Just wary. I need more time to get over what happened.”

“Just tell me, do you have to force yourself to call me one of your nicknames? You did so earlier, when we were with the pack. Was that just show?” Fenrir asked, not sure if he wanted to know the answer.

Harry hesitated, but then nodded, and Fenrir groaned. “I just didn’t want your pack to think that we still haven’t resolved our problems. That’s between the two of us, right? But I’m sure the nicknames will come back with time.”

“Don’t force yourself,” Fenrir finally ordered, rubbing his fingers against Harry’s cheekbone. “Not for my sake, at least. I have to know when I’ve earned your trust again.”

“But it hurts you!” Harry argued. “And it was my fault as well.”

“No,” the werewolf growled angrily. “I lost it, I overreacted, I hurt you. I’m the only one to blame.”

Harry snorted, pressing a kiss to Fenrir’s chest. “Possessive bastard, you won’t even share the blame, will you? But guess what, I’m possessive as well and you’re mine and I call you whatever I please. Too bad for you if you don’t like it.”

Fenrir laughed in relief, pecking Harry’s lips in a short kiss. “I guess I’ll just have to deal, won’t I?”

Harry nodded with a pleased grin. “Exactly, I see there’s hope for you yet. And since you insist that all the blame be heaped on your overly broad shoulders, you’ll treat me the way I want to be treated.”

“And how do you want to be treated?” Fenrir asked readily, resting his hand on Harry’s abdomen.

“Not like a girl,” Harry said immediately. “I don’t want flowers or declarations of love every two seconds. I don’t want to be carried or waited on hand to foot. I don’t want overflowing courtesy or flattery. And I don’t want you to apologise just because the man always apologises even if he has no idea what he did wrong.”

“But I know what I did wrong,” Fenrir dared to protest, and Harry glared at him.

“That’s not the point. The point is that I have a cock, thank you very much, and if you can’t appreciate that you can go to Lin.”

Fenrir cocked his head slightly, his eyes narrowing in contemplation before he smirked. “You jealous, little one?”

Harry scowled at him, crossing his arms over his chest. “You wish.”

“No, I **know** ,” Fenrir corrected, clearly satisfied with this accomplishment. “You’re jealous, my beautiful moonlight.”

“So what?!” Harry demanded. “I don’t like the way she looks at you and touches you like you were already hers. I think that’s completely understandable and justified and - ”

Fenrir silenced his little rant, as much as he enjoyed it, with a long kiss that robbed Harry of any and all breath. “I’m very glad and appreciative of the fact that you have a cock, my sweet human,” he murmured, leaning closer to Harry’s ear. “And between us, I’m even more appreciative of your smell because Lin smells about as appealing as a long dead sheep.”

Harry’s face lightened up at that piece of news, and he laughed happily. “Good to know.”

Fenrir pulled Harry into his arms, kissing the unruly mop of hair and took a deep sniff of Harry’s delicious scent. “Lin, nor anyone else, could ever offer me all that you give me, silly thing.”

“Let’s not get cheesy now, okay?” Harry grimaced but his eyes were luminescent and smiling. “And you’ll still have to wait.”

He laughed when Fenrir growled testily and then tugged him along with a bit of difficulty. But finally, he had them in front of David’s door and knocked softly.


	33. Trust

“Patronus!” David grimaced in greeting, pulling Harry into his chambers and enveloping him in a strong hug. “I’m glad to see you.”

Before Harry could answer, he was harshly jerked back against Fenrir’s chest. “No touching,” Fenrir growled dangerously.

Harry heaved a sigh, smiling apologetically at the Death Eater before he turned in the confines of Fenrir’s arms, pressing his lips to the werewolf’s Adam’s apple and started to suckle on it. Fenrir groaned, throwing his head back to give Harry better access, and his eyes lidded in pleasure. Thus, he did not see the look of calculation on Harry’s face and allowed himself to be nudged back and around until the back of his knees hit the edge of the sofa, and he dropped down on it. Harry moved to straddle his legs, rubbing his body against the werewolf’s while he carefully loosened the hold Fenrir had on his hips, pinning Fenrir’s wrists to the sofa.

“I will go and speak with David, alone,” he told him sternly. “You can keep Draco company.”

“I don’t think - ”

“I’m afraid what you think is of absolutely no consequence right now, Fenrir,” Harry stated, straightening up. “I won’t have you hovering around us, scaring him. I don’t know what you think is going to happen, and I’m pretty sure I would be offended if I did, but you’ll have to let me out of your sight eventually. And you’ll have to trust me. You might as well start now.”

With that he took David by the arm, leading him into the older man’s bedroom but not closing the door behind them, leaving it slightly ajar in the hope that this might keep the werewolf moderately calm. Fenrir glared at the door for a moment before he slumped, glancing angrily at the Malfoy heir before returning to observing the door. He listened intently, but their voices were muffled, still audible, but incomprehensible. Harry must have used a magic trick to prevent him from eavesdropping. He glared at the door.

Harry got comfortable on the bed, pulling David’s head to rest on his chest. “What’s on your mind, David?”

The Death Eater shrugged, relaxing after a few deep breaths. “You and Greyback made up.” Harry smiled brilliantly at that and nodded. “Good. You know I didn’t mean to ruin what you have.”

“I know, don’t worry.”

“Are you sure we should be in here alone?” David still asked, and Harry rolled his eyes.

“Fenrir trusts me. Besides, I’m not above using his guilt to get some small favours.” Harry grinned.

David snorted. “Didn’t look like that trust was very stable. Just make sure that you won’t get burnt. Again. I’m not worth it.”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?” Harry offered, running his hands through David’s hair. “Has Draco moved in here?”

“I guess so,” David said softly, grimacing wryly. “He came over more and more often and then somehow he stopped leaving. I don’t see why he would prefer my sofa over his bed, but so be it.”

“I have a feeling it has more to do with your company than with your furniture,” Harry teased, and David snorted. “Are you still afraid?”

“I don’t see it change any time soon,” the grey-haired man answered. “Draco is... probably perfect, but...”

“It’s okay, David. I’m sure he understands. You both seem happy, and that’s what important. The rest will come with time.”

“But when, Harry?” David demanded. “This is insane. Draco can’t even walk around with a bare chest without making me panic, and I always throw him out of my chambers when I want to use the toilet or shower.”

“Probably not tomorrow, or in one week, but certainly before my baby comes of age.”

David snorted. “What a consolation!”

Harry shrugged apologetically. “I don’t want to make empty promises, but I have confidence in you.”

“It’s just hard to have patience when you’re not even sure what you’re waiting for, I guess,” David muttered, and Harry hugged him more tightly. “But with Rudolphus it paid of. Have you seen Rabastan yet?”

“Just now,” Harry agreed. “He was rather shy and clingy, but Healer Lestrange sure was happy.”

David nodded. “He still doesn’t talk much, but he’s lucid and answers when you ask him a question. Bellatrix isn’t too pleased.”

“Do you know why she did it?” Harry asked curiously.

“Isn’t it obvious?” David asked. “Rudolphus protected Rabastan and Rabastan protected Rudolphus in turn, but Bellatrix was not part of that circle. I assume she thought by getting Rabastan out of the picture she would have a chance to get closer to her husband. That and revenge, of course.”

Harry groaned. “I hate this. I hate Azkaban and I hate what it does to people.”

David shrugged. “We might have deserved it.”

“Don’t say that! I won’t have you say that.” Harry glared at him. “Not even Voldemort deserves that. It’s just not right.”

“You would see it like this.” David grimaced wryly. “So everything alright with your baby?”

Harry scowled at him for the obvious change of subject, but then nodded with a happy smile. “It’s a boy, we just found out. And he’s in perfect health, do you want to see him?”

“Sure, why not?” David agreed, dutifully looking at the moving black-and-white image on the screen, though it was clear that Harry was far more interested in it than the older man. “Sorry, kids aren’t really my cup of tea.”

Harry laughed, making the screen disappear again. “That’s okay. Fenrir’s pack is all worried and focused on the baby. I guess, by now, I’m surprised if someone isn’t over the moon for the baby.”

David shrugged lightly before once again relaxing against Harry. They lay in silence for a while, doozing in and out of consciousness until David sat up, squeezing Harry’s hand.

“Thanks, Patronus,” he murmured, helping the younger man to his feet.

“You’re welcome.” Harry smiled at him before transferring his smile to the impatiently waiting werewolf as soon as he stepped into the living room.

Fenrir jumped up, rushed towards Harry and pulled him to his furred chest with a long, deep growl. Harry chuckled as lips and hands caressed and touched his body, and Fenrir sniffed every part of his body to make sure that nothing untoward had happened.

“Hm, I should do this more often, if that’s the welcome I receive,” Harry all but purred, nestling into the werewolf’s arms. “Satisfied?”

“Alright,” Fenrir grumbled, glaring at David over Harry’s head. “Don’t do this again.”

“You know I will,” Harry murmured, half-apologetically, half-defiantly. “Please, just trust me.”

“I don’t trust **him** ,” Fenrir growled, kissing Harry’s temple when the younger man sighed. “And I don’t like letting you out of my sight, little strong one.”

He gently kissed Harry’s lips before he released him reluctantly. But Harry wasn’t about to separate from his comfortable pillow, snuggling back into the werewolf with an impish grin.

“Hey, Harry,” Draco spoke up after he had pressed a roguish kiss to David’s knuckles. “Would you be interested in accompanying me to a club tonight?”

“Huh?” Harry slowly turned his head to look at the blond, resting his cheek against Fenrir’s breastbone. “You want to go clubbing?”

“Yes, Harry.” Draco arched his eyebrow impatiently. “We’re young, certainly you cannot have forgotten yet how to have fun.”

“I...” Harry glanced at Fenrir. “Thanks for asking, but I’ll have to decline.”

Fenrir grumbled softly, pressing a kiss to Harry’s forehead. “You don’t have to, little moonlight. But I’m coming with you.”

“You want to go clubbing?” Harry asked incredulously. “You?”

The silver-haired man nipped Harry’s cheek in warning, rubbing a slow circle on Harry’s hip. “Yes, I. I wouldn’t mind showing off with you.”

Harry laughed. “Show off with me? With what? With the fact that you knocked me up?”

“No, with the fact that I managed to claim the most beautiful and enticing creature on this warped earth as my own,” Fenrir corrected him.

“But why would you want to go to a club?” Harry demanded suspiciously. “You hate everyone who isn’t a werewolf.”

“I don’t hate them, they’re just beneath me.” Fenrir scoffed, amending quickly, when Harry glared at him and crossed his arms over his chest. “Most of them. Most of them are beneath me. There’re some very pleasing exceptions, my little one.”

Harry grumbled. “Well?”

“I think it would do us both well to get out a little,” Fenrir offered. “I don’t want you to suffocate with the pact, with my life.”

“It’s my life as well, isn’t it?” Harry asked, and Fenrir tightened his arms around the younger man.

“Of course it is, sweet one. But maybe I expected too much of you, to adapt completely to **my** lifestyle. You shouldn’t have to.”

“And going clubbing is your solution to that problem?” Harry asked mockingly. “Maybe you should go with Draco because it’s seems like you’re trying to assimilate to his lifestyle.”

Fenrir didn’t appear to find this too amusing and snarled testily, slapping Harry’s bottom. “Well, then choose somewhere else to go because we’re going on a date.”

“My, you sure have a nice way of asking me out,” Harry taunted. “What if I don’t want to go out? What if I just want to spend a quiet evening with you and the pack? Maybe I want to go through baby names with Maya.”

“If you’re tired we’ll go out tomorrow,” Fenrir stated.

“Ready to compromise, aren’t you?” Harry muttered. “This is not your kind of thing and it isn’t mine, either.”

But Fenrir was adamant. “Then we’ll go have dinner.”

“Fenrir...”

“Oh, come on, Harry,” Draco spoke up. “It’ll be fun. It’s a Muggle club so you won’t have to worry about crazed fans or reporters. Just dancing, a few drinks - ”

“I’m pregnant!” Harry protested. “I mustn’t drink.”

“There’re also non-alcoholic beverages.” Draco informed him matter-of-factly. “You don’t have to stay long, but certainly if David can see the appeal in relaxing and dancing away the stress, it cannot be as abhorrent as you make it out to be.”

“You’re coming?” Harry asked in surprise, turning to the Death Eater.

David sighed. “Draco wore me down eventually. I told him I would only come if you joined in as well.”

Harry snorted as Draco had the grace to look at least slightly sheepish. “So that’s it, huh? And I bet you even manipulated Fenrir into believing that this is a great idea.”

Fenrir growled.

“Well, actually, I tried to, but since he ignored me completely, I ticked that off as failed,” Draco admitted.

“I don’t let myself be manipulated,” Fenrir declared; Harry arched one single eyebrow, his lips quirking mockingly. “I just happen to want to go. With you.”

“And what if I want to go somewhere else with you?” Harry asked. “I happened to enjoy last night. And today.” He smirked, shimmying a little against the werewolf.

Fenrir traced Harry’s spine, pressing a kiss to his pale temple before he leant down to his ear. “I love you, beautiful moonlight, and I’ve hurt you enough for one single day. You need time to heal.”

“It wasn’t only painful,” Harry argued. “I like having sex with you.”

“That’s flattering.” Fenrir smirked. “But I told you that I want to have a real relationship with you, not just sex. Don’t you think we’ll find something else we might also enjoy doing together?”

“Ah, so you think we share more than amazing sex?” Harry whispered seductively. “Well, then, let’s try that out. And if it turns out that our main compatibility is in bed, we can still return there, can’t we?”

“Definitely.” Fenrir rumbled happily, pecking Harry’s lips before drawing him in for a much longer and more intimate kiss. “I believe you said something about pay back.”

“It’s no fun when you look forward to it.” Harry pouted. “It’s supposed to be a punishment.”

Fenrir barked out a laugh, butting Harry’s nose with his. “I’ll have to disappoint you because nothing you do to me could constitute as a punishment.”

Harry promptly tried to ram his elbow into Fenrir’s solar plexus, but the werewolf intercepted him easily, instead leading Harry’s hand to his mouth, breathing a kiss over his knuckles. “You wouldn’t hurt me, little sweet one. Who then would take care of you and the child? No one can do that as well as I.”

He smothered Harry’s snort with a long, deep kiss, carefully massaging the small of his back.

“You do know that you have to wear clothes if we want to go out, don’t you?” Harry asked, sweeping his eyes pointedly over Fenrir’s bare upper body and his torn and worn jeans.

Fenrir grunted. “I have some other clothes, don’t worry. You won’t get out of this so easily.”

Harry sighed, slumping against the werewolf. “Fine.”

“Harry, you do have something to wear as well, don’t you?” Draco asked with a sceptical glance at Harry’s choice of clothes.

Harry merely shrugged. “I can transfigure something.”

“I sincerely hope you’re kidding me,” Draco retorted. “You can’t honestly mean to wear transfigured clothes.” When Harry only looked blankly at him, he groaned. “That’s it. I’ll have something ready for you to wear this evening. Don’t protest.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Harry muttered. “So, we’ll see you tonight? At around tenish?”

“Precise as always,” Draco mocked. “Let’s make it a quarter past ten.”

“We’ll see,” Harry answered, disentangling from Fenrir to give David a short hug. “You keep him in check. Don’t let him pick something outrageous, please.”

“We’ll look out for each other,” David murmured after a short moment of hesitation, and Harry nodded happily. “See you tonight, Harry.”

“Tonight,” Harry agreed, squeaking when Fenrir pulled him back into his arms, scooping him up with his usual ease. “Do you have to do this?”

“Certainly not.” Fenrir smirked, cradling his grumbling lover to his chest. “But why would I deny myself that pleasure? Don’t waste your energy glaring at me, small human.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Harry retorted. “And don’t jostle me. How am I supposed to sleep with all that commotion?”

“Safely and sweetly,” Fenrir murmured tenderly. “Because I’ll protect you.”

“Don’t you always?” Harry asked tiredly. “I’m exhausted. Why am I so exhausted, Fenrir? I feel like a weak damsel in distress who faints at the slightest provocation... And don’t say that I’m allowed to be tired because I’m pregnant.”

“I guess, I best not say anything then,” Fenrir said instead pressing a kiss to Harry’s temple. “My beautiful damsel in distress.”

“If you were worth it, I would really hate you,” Harry grumbled.

“Ah, you’ll just have to settle for loving me instead.” The werewolf smirked.

“Hm, too tired,” Harry muttered, closing his eyes. “Maybe later.”

Fenrir nipped Harry’s earlobe in warning, but then allowed the young man to slip into a light slumber, safely bringing him home and bedding him on their furs in their hut. He took off Harry’s shoes and spread a thick blanket over Harry’s small form before he went back out to help his pack with shearing their small herd of sheep. While he could have transferred this loathsome job - the horrid smell of the sheep, the little hairs that stuck to their skin and made it itch and the twisting bodies and hard hooves - he took the chance to spend time with his pack and thank them in this way, without words, for their support and their acceptance.


	34. Relaxation

“I don’t understand this.” Harry slowly came back to consciousness at the loud voice, though his eyes refused to be pried open. “You said I could come with you when I’m older. I’m almost forty!”

“Chetan - ”

“But Remus and Sirius are allowed to come!” Chetan interrupted his Alpha, who growled warningly. “Alpha, I just don’t understand.”

“And what about Tristan, huh?” Fenrir demanded.

“Tristan has nothing to do with this,” Chetan argued, his eyes narrowed angrily. “This is about me not knowing **anything** about the outside world. Why can’t I come?”

Fenrir sighed. “I want to be there for Harry. I can’t look out for you at the same time. Maybe another time.”

“But... You make me seem like a burden!” Chetan exclaimed; Harry had never heard him speak with Fenrir in a raised voice. “You think it’s safe enough for Harry, don’t you? And he’s pregnant! I’m not a child anymore, I don’t need to be sheltered. And I can look out for Harry.”

“I’d like that.” Harry interrupted them, slowly blinking his eyes open and turning his head to look at the two werewolves; he sat up abruptly. “Whoa, what happened to you?”

Fenrir critically looked down on himself and then back at Harry. “You don’t like it?”

“Don’t be stupid, of course I do!” Harry exclaimed, getting up. “You look damn hot.” He appraisingly walked around his tall lover, clad in tight dark blue jeans and a black leather jacket over a simple white wife-beater. “I didn’t know you could look like this.”

“Like what?” Fenrir asked, but with a grin on his face.

“Promise not to be angry?” Harry asked uncertainly and Fenrir nodded, arching an eyebrow expectantly. “You look... civilised, I guess? Don’t get me wrong, I really like the caveman look, but this is nice as well. Do you plan to find a replacement for me?”

“Stupid human,” Fenrir growled deeply, taking Harry into his arms. “For you? I wouldn’t find anyone who would dare to provoke me like you do.”

“Ah, so you’d miss me, wouldn’t you?” Harry grinned, tugging on Fenrir’s hair. “But I’d still better come with you to keep an eye on you.”

“And I’m coming as well,” Chetan stated. “You’ve consoled me for years, and always I had to stay home when you went out, but if Remus is allowed to come so am I.”

“Cub,” Fenrir grumbled warningly but then turned his attention back on Harry, who had cocked his head with a pensive smile.

“You’ve done this before? My, my, my, I’m discovering a whole new side to you. Could it be that it’s actually **you** who wants to go clubbing? And here you had me believe that you were doing this to come **my** way.” He smirked, shaking his finger at the werewolf. “Selfish bugger, aren’t you?”

Fenrir glowered down at his smaller lover, obviously not amused by Harry’s assessment, and his hand rose as if to cuff Harry around the ears like he would have done with one of his other werewolves.

Harry’s smiled dimmed like a dying lightbulb. “I guess you didn’t get the joke, did you? Anyway, you look good, is all I wanted to say. I’ll go find Remy.”

“Little one, wait!” Fenrir reached out, resting a heavy hand on Harry’s thin arm. “Maybe, yes, this is something that I want, but I want to do it with you. And if you don’t like it, we’ll find something just for you. Alright, sweet human?”

Harry beamed at him. “Can I have a kitten?”

“What? No!” Fenrir snarled, staring incredulously down at the younger man. “I won’t tolerate one of those beasts here!”

Harry laughed. “Well, if you don’t want to get me a cat, I guess, you’ll just have to make this evening worth my while... I’ll leave you to primp a bit longer. Do I smell Maya’s fantastic stew?”

With that he wandered out of the hut and over to Maya, who welcomed him with a bowl of steaming vegetable stew and a buttered piece of bread. Harry smiled gratefully before he ate at least a large part of what she had given him. Afterwards, he found his godfathers to talk and cuddle a little.

He must have dozed off because when he opened his eyes again, it was already and Fenrir was hovering over him, gently rubbing Harry’s cheekbones. “Ready to go, my little moonlight?”

Harry groaned, rolling his head to look at him. A slow smile spread over his face and he nodded, allowing Fenrir to help him up.

“You’re even wearing shoes,” Harry commented approvingly, giving the werewolf a quick kiss before he pulled back instead taking his hand. “Chetan, you’re looking quite nice as well.”

The werewolf beamed at him, “Thank you. I’m so excited.”

“What about me?” Sirius intervened, twirling around in his anthracite-coloured dress pants and a ringed red and white t-shirt.

Harry whistled through his teeth and gave his godfather the thumbs-up, grinning impishly. “Seems like everyone is ready, except for me. Let’s go.”

Fenrir quickly took the lead, his hand playing over Harry’s side as they walked through the portal and up to the castle. Draco, when he opened the door, looked drop-dead gorgeous, even Harry had to admit that. His silvery blond hair fell in stylish waves around his perfect face, his silver eyes accented by discreet black mascara and his straight white teeth almost sparkling. His pants were tight enough to leave nothing to the imagination and his dress shirt was quite transparent, showing off his defined pectoral muscles, broad shoulders and strong arms.

David, next to him, looked rather inconspicuous, clad in dark and though fitting still wide clothes that hid more than they revealed. His grey hair was styled as always, though parted a bit more carefully than usual. And he looked nervous.

Harry smiled at him before looking suspiciously at the blond. “I’m not wearing something like **that**.”

“Of course not,” Draco agreed with scowl. “You would look horrible in silver.”

“That shirt is supposed to be silver?” Harry asked incredulously, and Draco’s scowl deepened before he decided that he could torture Harry much better by treating him like a window dummy and tugged him into David’s bedroom.

Fenrir listened attentively, tuning out the conversation around him. From time to time, he could hear curses and shouts and arguing, but nothing that really worried him.

Finally, the door opened again, and Draco re-emerged with a satisfied smirk, tugging on Harry’s arm, who seemed reluctant to come out. “Come on, Harry. You look fine. More than that, actually.”

“I don’t like this,” Harry muttered. “I feel exposed. And I look fat.”

“There’s a glamour charm around your stomach,” Draco refuted, scowling at a still invisible Harry. “And if you insist on wearing one more layer of clothing you’ll be a fountain of sweat.”

“Draco... I really don’t think this is such a good idea,” Harry mumbled, but slowly followed the insistent tug on his arm out into the main room, shyly glancing up at Fenrir. “I look ridiculous, don’t I?”

Fenrir growled and with a few quick steps he stood in front of Harry, hiding the younger man against his chest. “You’re not going to go like this.”

“See, Draco, I told you, I look horrible,” Harry muttered, his hurt hidden carefully beneath the triumph of having been right.

“No, you don’t,” Fenrir snarled, making Harry’s head snap up. “I’m not letting you go like this. They’ll get ideas.”

Harry gaped at him. “You **like** this?”

“Of course, I do, stupid little wizard,” Fenrir grumbled, pressing a kiss to Harry’s mouth. “But I’ll be the only one liking this because you’re not going out like this.”

Harry arched an eyebrow and he smirked a challenge. “Think you can order me around?”

Fenrir pushed Harry up against the wall with warningly bared teeth, confining all of Harry’s movements with his own body pressed hard against the smaller one between himself and the wall. He tilted Harry’s chin up, forcing Harry to meet his eyes.

“You won’t go out like this, moonlight,” he whispered harshly. “I simply won’t allow it.”

“What are - ”

“No, Harry, not this time,” Fenrir interrupted him coldly. “Go get changed.”

“I’m not - ”

Fenrir roared and not very gently manoeuvred Harry back into David’s bedroom, banging the door shut behind them before he stripped Harry of the tight, light-washed pair of shorts, the net-shirt with the red stripe that went diagonally over Harry’s chest, just barely protecting his nipples from being seen.

Fenrir’s eyes swirled with desire as he ran hungry hands over Harry’s milky skin, rumbling low in his chest and pushing Harry closer, closer to the bed until he made Harry topple down on it. With a feral snarl, he pounced on the younger man, latching with his mouth onto Harry’s neck.

The ex-Gryffindor stiffened, whimpered, jerking his hands and knees up and between himself and Fenrir. “Don’t. Please, stop. Please.”

Fenrir drew back immediately, though his eyes had still not returned to their normal golden colour. Nonetheless, he sat down at the foot of the bed and gently traced Harry’s thigh, finally pulling the younger man’s small feet into his lap to massage them.

Harry gradually relaxed again, and Fenrir once again leaned over him, claiming Harry’s lips and caressing Harry’s bare chest. The black-haired man moaned, but framed Fenrir’s face with his small hands, gently pushing him away.

“Fenrir, as much as I like this horny and confident self of yours, I refuse to have sex with you with my godfathers in the next room,” Harry attempted to dissuade the werewolf, who seemed not to have heard him. “Fenrir, stop. I don’t want to right now.”

The silver-haired man drew back with a frustrated grunt, glaring down at Harry. “Then go get dressed.”

“And what would you suggest I wear?” Harry demanded, hurt and annoyed by the cold tone.

“Not what you were wearing earlier,” Fenrir stated decisively.

“That would have been quite difficult anyway. I think you completely ripped those clothes,” Harry replied, slightly amused though still not completely reconciled with Fenrir’s sudden withdrawal.

Fenrir only scowled and turned to go. “Change, small one.”

“Now wait just a moment.” Harry jumped up as well, glaring at the werewolf. “Don’t fucking treat me like I’m only good for sex. You scared me, you scared me and molested me and now you dare to act all frustrated? Fenrir!”

Fenrir turned with another sigh, approaching Harry and taking his hands into his, pressing two lingering kisses into his palms. “You know I don’t see you like this, beautiful wolf.” He smiled reassuringly, pushing his nose into Harry’s hair. “But if I can’t make use of that tantalising body you so daringly displayed, I want it clothed again because I, nor anyone else, could resist you.”

Harry sighed, pushing his head under Fenrir’s chin. “It’s such a curse to be desirable, isn’t it?”

Fenrir chuckled softly, trailing his hand down Harry’s spine before he carefully pushed him away again. “I’d imagine that you’d have got used to it by now, my little beauty.” Harry merely rolled his eyes, and Fenrir grumbled quietly, “Get dressed, sweet wolf. I’m sure you’ll find something suitable. Just make sure that you keep your privates private.”

Fenrir grinned, nipping Harry’s nose, who snorted at Fenrir’s lame play of words. He then pulled back for good, pinching Harry’s panty-clad bottom before he left the room.

Harry glared after him before he quickly summoned another outfit that Draco had quickly dismissed as too tame, but in which Harry had felt rather comfortable. He performed a glamour charm on his simple green t-shirt that would avert gazes from his baby bump and finally ran his hand through his hair, before following Fenrir back into the main room.

“I don’t want to hear anything,” he told Draco. “Let’s just go.”

The young Malfoy heir pouted. “Just your hair?” he asked hopefully, and Harry nodded with a small sigh, approaching the other youth, who summoned a bit of hair gel and quickly spread it in Harry’s hair, skilfully running his hands through the inky tresses, ruffling and putting them in place. “Finished,” he finally declared proudly. “Now it doesn’t look like a bird’s nest anymore.”

Harry grunted when Fenrir pulled him away from the blond, pressing a moist kiss to the corner of Harry’s mouth. “Much better,” he commented, tracing the small stripe of white skin that was visible between Harry’s t-shirt and his low-riding jeans, before he rested his hand on Harry’s belly.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door and two identical redheads peered into the room. “Good evening, everyone,” they chorused, identical grins spreading over their faces. “Are we ready to go?”

“Fred! George!” Harry exclaimed, accepting their exuberant hugs. “I didn’t know you were coming, too.”

“Of course.”

“We wouldn’t miss out on all the fun.”

“Annoyed Snape...”

“...till he kicked us out.” They grinned fiendishly.

“We’re getting good at that, aren’t we, Forge?”

“Most certainly, Gred,” the other twin replied. “Snape is a good teacher after all.”

Fenrir seemed to have grown bored of their conversation and was trailing kisses over Harry’s face. Harry’s eyes fluttered close against his will and he comfortably leant back against his lover, just barely suppressing a moan.

“Well then, let us go,” Draco declared, carefully slipping his hand into David’s. “We’ll use the portal to the Ministry. From there, it’s only a short walk.”

They all followed the blond and the grey-haired Death Eater to the portal which was situated in a long hallway with portraits of famous wizards and witches on the walls. Draco and David stepped through the archway of shimmering light first, followed by the Weasley twins and Chetan, Sirius and Remus. Harry and Fenrir went through it last.

“Alright, hide your wands,” Draco called over his shoulder after they had walked a few minutes with only quiet conversations. “There might be Muggles around, but it’s not much farther.”

Harry could see that. Groups of inebriated, styled and laughing people were passing them and the streets were colourful with light and loud with music and joking voices. Finally, Draco turned into a side street, walking past the queue of waiting people as if he didn’t see them and up to the broad-shouldered bouncer.

“Eric, how do you do?” he greeted the Muggle pleasantly, clasping his hand. “Busy night?”

The tall Muggle smiled at the gorgeous blond. “Draco! Long time no see. I thought you had completely forgotten about me.”

Draco smirked, motioned to David at his side. “I was busy elsewhere.” He tried to drop a kiss on David’s forehead, but the grey-haired man jerked away.

The Muggle arched an eyebrow, looking the older Death Eater up and down as if taxing him. Draco narrowed his eyes angrily, but when he sensed David tense next to him, he made a conscious effort to relax. He carefully brushed his fingertips over the back of David’s hand, smiling encouragingly at him.

“Really now?” Eric asked. “Seems like you’ll have your work cut out for you.”

“I’m sure of it,” Draco agreed easily, leading David’s hand to his mouth. “It will be worth it in the end. So worth it.”

David grimaced shyly at the blond, squeezing his hand.

“I see,” Eric’s voice was full of disappointment. “Well, then enjoy yourself. Are those your friends?”

“Yes, you already know the twins.” Draco motioned vaguely in their direction. “And I’ve brought some other friends. I trust that will not be a problem?”

“No, no, just head on in. Welcome to the Exile, Draco,” the Muggle said before he turned back to the waiting masses.

“How did you do that?” Harry demanded suspiciously. “That guy had the hots for you, and you shoved it in his face that you’re no longer on the market. Why did he still let us in?”

“Because I own this club,” Draco replied casually. “My father gifted it to me for my seventeenth birthday.

“Go figure.” Harry snorted, but looked around with interest.

They were standing in a spacious room, almost airy and not as stiffling as Harry had almost expected. Muted music could already be heard and several groups of people were milling around, sipping their drinks, talking and laughing. Draco steered them over to a little booth where they handed in their coats and jackets and received several leather bands in return.

“What are we supposed to do with those?” Harry demanded suspiciously, gaping when Draco fastened one of the collars around David’s throat. “What the fuck!”

“Eloquent as always, Harry,” Draco replied with an arched eyebrow. “Those collars are just a sign that you’re already spoken for and are not interested in any advances. I would suggest you wear one as well.”

“It’s a fucking collar!” Harry hissed at him. “I’m no one’s damn property.”

Fenrir grumbled unhappily, pulling Harry back against his body. “Don’t make a fuss, sweet one. You’re mine.”

“I’m not your stupid little plaything that you can parade around like a trophy,” Harry insisted stubbornly. “You should have got a puppy if you wanted someone you can collar and take for walkies.”

“I’ll take you for walkies and I’ll bet you’ll like it,” Fenrir whispered in Harry’s ear.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Forget it. I won’t do it.”

Fenrir growled warningly, tugging on Harry’s arm. “We’re in a relationship. You’re spoken for.”

“So are you. You wear that collar if it’s that important to you, because I’m not going to,” Harry argued angrily, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I’m not a dog!”

“Well, am I?” Harry demanded.

“Cub, it’s not that bad. Look, I’m wearing the collar as well,” Sirius intervened, smiling encouragingly. “It sure goes well with my outfit, doesn’t it?”

“Well, good for you if you don’t mind, but I do,” Harry stated decisively. “I’m not going to wear that collar and that’s final. Stop trying to convince me, Fenrir.”

The werewolf’s eyes were yellow with anger. “Come find me when you’re ready to acknowledge our relationship and have finished flirting.”

“This is not about me wanting to flirt or...” But Fenrir wasn’t even listening and just left Harry standing. “Damn that werewolf.”

“Harry, are you sure you don’t want to wear the collar?” Draco started one last attempt to convince the slightly younger boy. I used to wear one of these as well because some of the patrons are quite drunk and their advances are not of a genteel variety that can be easily refused. It is really much more agreeable if you don’t have to worry about that.”

“Then why aren’t you wearing one now?” Harry demanded mockingly. “If it’s so much more pleasant with one?”

“Because I’m here with David,” Draco stated simply. “One of us is supposed to take the role of the scary protector. You have to admit that Greyback is a little more predestined for that role than you.”

“If they’re drunk and wouldn’t get the hint, I doubt they’d leave me alone just because I’m wearing this.” He held up the simple leather band in disgust.

“We have a very strict policy here to ensure that those who want to flirt and find someone for the night can do so, while those who just want to have a good time and dance aren’t bothered,” Draco argued. “If someone were to make unappreciated advances on a claimed partner they would be expelled from the club and charged with sexual harassment. Besides, the collars are infused with protective charms and spells.”

“I think I’ll rely on myself and my own magic, thank you,” Harry said pertly, also turning to the main room.

The volume of the music that suddenly assaulted his ears, made him wonder briefly how Fenrir’s fine werewolf ears coped with this, but then he decided that this was Fenrir’s problem and not his. Someone tapped his shoulder, and he swivelled around, staring up at Draco.

“At least take some earplugs,” Draco told him. “Or you’ll be deaf by the end of the night. They’re charmed so that you’ll still hear when someone tries talking you up.”

“That won’t happen anyway,” Harry said, but took the plugs, propping them in.

“I wouldn’t be so sure, Harry,” Draco argued. “It’s a well known fact that this club is gay-friendly, and you look like a gay man’s wet dream. Just be careful, all right?”

“I’ll be just fine,” Harry said dryly. “I’ll get something to drink. Look out for David, okay? Do not leave him alone.”

“I wouldn’t,” Draco agreed easily, putting his hands over David’s that had slipped around his waist. “He’ll be quite safe with me. Are you up to it, love?”

“We might as well,” David muttered, running his hand self-consciously through his grey hair.

“Don’t even think it,” Draco admonished him. “You’re beautiful, breathtaking and this is no club for teenagers, anyway. If anything, I don’t fit in here. You’re just perfect.”

David snorted in disbelief, but relaxed again, following the blond further into the room. Harry sighed when also his godfathers and Chetan gave him their opinion on his stubbornness and unsuccessfully tried to convince him to wear the stupid collar. Why couldn’t they just understand and accept his decision? He was already annoyed with this whole clubbing idea. He should have better stayed at home.

“Harrykins...”

“Stupid decision...”

“... if you ask us...”

“... but no reason to make such a face...”

“... and not to have fun...”

“Come on, Harry!” The twins chorused, hooking their arms through Harry’s and dragging him onto the dance floor. “You can get a drink later. Now, dance.”

“I can’t dance,” Harry protested, trying to bat away the two pairs of hands that were groping his hips and running over his chest and thighs. “Stop that.”

“Just relax, little bro,” Fred whispered in his ear. “Listen to the music, close your eyes. You’re doing fine.”

“Fred, George, back off,” Harry hissed softly, disentangling himself from their embrace.

“Fine, you need space. No need to get bitchy,” George muttered, but they both put some distance between themselves and Harry, dancing around him. “Relax, Harry. This is why we’re here.”

Harry heaved a sigh, but gradually his tense muscles loosened and he began to go with the flow of the gyrating bodies around him. Just dancing. Step-by-step he forgot about his embarrassment and even began to enjoy himself. It was easy to lose himself in the music, in the colourful darkness around them, in the warm, moving bodies pushing and grinding against him. It was easy to forget. And Harry forgot.

George and Fred had attracted a whole flock of girls, all dancing and smiling and apparently having the times of their lives. Fred grinned roguishly at him, motioning Harry to join their group, but Harry shook his head and pointed at the bar, indicating that he would get something to drink.

He cast a furtive glance about the room, but stopped himself before he spotted the one he had been looking for. He wouldn’t run after Fenrir, crying for attention. He glared at someone who had pinched his bottom, only earning himself a leer.

“Pervert,” he muttered, fighting his way through to the bar and finally managing to order a bottle of water.

“Thirsty?” someone next to him asked.

“Obviously,” Harry gave back without sparing the other man even a glance.

A put-on laugh was his reply. “Perky, aren’t you? I like that.”

“If you say so,” Harry muttered morosely. “You’ll still have to find someone else because I’m not interested.”

“You’re not wearing a collar are you?” The Muggle demanded, and Harry tilted his head to glare at him and only then noticed that he was speaking with a corpulent, older man with an impressive moustache; he grimaced.

“No, I’m not nor will I allow anyone to put a collar on me,” he snapped. “Now get lost.”

“No collar means you’re free for the taking,” the older man leered at him, reaching to slip his arm around Harry’s waist, who shied back; the man laughed, and Harry could smell the alcohol on his breath. “Not so skittish. I’ll be gentle, I promise, in between.”

“Go fuck yourself and leave me alone,” Harry hissed, taking another step back as the first tendrils of fear crept up his spine. “I’m not into fat perverts who can’t take a hint.”

The man laughed another forced laugh but his face reddened in anger and he made a lunge for Harry, who sidestepped fluidly, his wand slipping into his hand though he kept it close to his arm so as not to draw attention.

“B.J., Speedy, give me a hand with the feisty one over here, will you?” the man said over his shoulder, and two more leering man appeared at his sides.

“Nice legs,” one of them commented, and the other two snickered. “And I bet his tight ass could use some spanking. Let’s go get him, Rick.”

Harry looked at them with incredulous anger mixed with fear. Were these three idiots seriously considering forcing him into a perverted foursome? And they thought no one would object if they tried to rape someone in the middle of the dance floor? Harry had little faith in the moral courage of people, but even he found it hard to imagine that no one would step in. But Harry wasn’t one to rely on others, anyway, and if others were willing to protect him or not was of little importance because Harry was very well able to protect himself.


	35. Someone to Believe in You

Fenrir had never lost sight of his little moonlight. The part of him that was hurt because Harry refused to acknowledge their relationship in public preventing him from going to Harry, but the innate part of him that demanded that he protect his pack and his pregnant little wolf didn’t allow him to keep away. He had wanted to spend a relaxing evening with his lover, dammit, not have another stupid and unnecessary fight about stupid collars. Fact was that Harry wouldn’t need a collar if he stayed by Fenrir’s side, and Harry would have stayed by Fenrir’s side, if Fenrir hadn’t taken offence to Harry not wanting to wear that idiotic thing. Dammit!

When he saw Harry approached by that audacious human, he felt his hackles raise, a growl built in his chest. Without hesitation, he made his way over to his Harry. Just as the three men made to corner Harry, he appeared behind them, growling deeply. The Muggles swivelled around, gulping uncomfortably as they caught sight of Fenrir’s massive form. But they seemed to gain confidence in their number and refused to budge.

“What do you want, man?” Speedy demanded. “Can’t you see we’re busy?”

Fenrir glowered at them. “I would suggest that you leave my little one alone before I really get annoyed and snap all your bones.”

“He’s yours?” Rick demanded. “Then where’s his collar? We saw him first, find someone else, man.”

“I’m no man!” Fenrir roared, taking the leader by the collar of his shirt and carelessly threw him away like a bag of garbage; he turned to the other men and punched them out of the way. “And he’s damn well mine.”

Unfortunately, though not in Fenrir’s opinion, Rick had hit his head on the edge of the bar and now blood was gushing from a cut on his forehead and his smashed nose over his face. Harry stared at him with wide, clouded eyes, whimpering softly.

“Shh, my little young one. You alright?” Fenrir took Harry in his arms, petting his sable hair. “Shh, shh, I got you. It’s okay. Shush.”

Harry had begun to tremble, and his wand had clattered to the floor. “I didn’t.”

Fenrir blinked in surprise. “Shh, moonlight. Calm. I’m not angry.”

“I didn’t,” Harry repeated with rising panic in his voice. “I didn’t. I didn’t.”

“What happened here?” Suddenly Chetan was at their side, looking down on Harry in concern before glancing at the Muggle who still lay slumped against the bar; his two friends had taken to their heels.

Fenrir growled angrily, rubbing Harry’s back. “They didn’t accept Harry’s no. I dealt with them. Shh, did you hear me, small one? You’re safe now.”

“I didn’t.” Harry’s stared at the hurt Muggle. “Please.”

Fenrir was getting rather concerned as Harry seemed to have lost all touch to reality and was still trembling like a leaf. “Shh, of course you didn’t want this. I know you wouldn’t cheat on me. I won’t hurt you, I promise. Shh, you’re safe.” Harry didn’t seem to hear him, repeating the two words over and over again. “Chetan, go get Remus and Sirius.”

“Yes, Alpha,” Chetan answered, quickly slipping away and leaving Fenrir with his small lover.

“Harry, come on, look at me,” Fenrir pleaded, pressing his lips to Harry’s cheekbone. “I’m not going to lose my temper again. I saw what happened, I saw everything. You were ready to hex them, weren’t you? It’s okay.”

“I didn’t,” Harry whispered desperately.

The werewolf gently rocked the younger man, giving up on words since they had no effect on his distraught lover.

He smelled Draco, David and Chetan before the first tapped him on the shoulder. “Let’s get Harry somewhere private.”

Fenrir nodded, carefully pulling Harry up into his arms and even remembering Harry’s wand, before he followed the blond to an empty booth where Remus and Sirius were already waiting for them.

“Cub,” Remus exclaimed, grasping Harry’s shaking hands. “Are you alright?”

“I didn’t,” Harry said once more, his eyes just as far away as before.

“That’s the only thing he’s been saying,” Fenrir said, carefully setting Harry down and running his fingers through Harry’s hair. “Dammit, he thinks I’m angry with him for what that Muggle tried to do. He’s shut down again.”

“Harry.” Sirius dropped to his knees in front of Harry. “You don’t have to do this. We’re all here for you and no one is going to hurt you.”

The green-eyed boy whimpered, his hands fisting and unfisting spasmodically as he repeated the same two words over and over again.

“Goddess, little wolf, I’m not going to hurt you. It’s okay,” Fenrir stated, breathing a soft kiss over Harry’s lips. “I’m completely calm, see.”

The heavy curtain that separated their booth from the main room was pushed to the side as the twins also slipped into the room. They were wearing matching expressions of worry on their faces.

“Security is dealing with that man,” Fred offered, his voice several pitches deeper than usual.

“Fucking pervert,” George added. “Harry is so completely out of that pudgy, hairy, drunk man’s league that he’d just thought he’d force him to get his way. To see him covered in blood was definitely an improvement.”

“What?” Sirius whispered tearfully. “What did you just say?”

“That he looked better after Greyback had dealt with him?” George asked in surprise. “He sure did, though all that blood was kind of gross.”

“Oh, my...” Sirius whispered, pushing Remus aside to be able to grasp Harry’s hands; Harry didn’t interrupt his litany of “I didn’t”s. “I know, cub. I believe you. I believe you.”

“I didn’t,” Harry muttered.

“I know, Harry. I did,” Sirius answered softly. “I did. I killed them, Harry. You’re innocent.”

Harry shuddered, gasped. Then suddenly his eyes sparked with anger and he hammered his fists against Sirius’ chest, pushing him back over, crying and sobbing.

“Bastard! Murderer! How could you! They’re my family!” Harry shouted and cried into Sirius’ shirt, his angry fists gradually slowing down to desperate clutching and quiet sobs. “I didn’t do it. I didn’t.”

“I know,” said Sirius, who had born Harry’s rage with calm. “I did, little Prongs. I did, I’m sorry.”

“No one believed me.” Harry sobbed dryly. “I don’t want to go to Azkaban. I can’t.”

“I believe you, cub,” Remus spoke up, sitting down behind Sirius and taking both black-haired men into his arms. “I’ll always believe you. I know you did nothing wrong, and you won’t go back to Azkaban.”

Harry whimpered, his eyes squeezed shut. “Can’t go there. Hurts. It hurts.”

“We believe you, too, little bro,” Fred offered, and his brother nodded emphatically. “We believe you. You didn’t kill the Dursleys.”

“I believe you as well, Patronus,” David declared firmly, managing to catch Harry’s frightened eyes. “You never gave me a reason to doubt you.”

Harry took a shuddering breath, clutching his godfather’s shirt. “It wasn’t me.”

“Of course not, my little scared one,” Fenrir grumbled, dropping to his knees next to his partner. “I punched that human because he wanted to hurt you. You did nothing they could throw you into Azkaban for, not then and not now... And didn’t I protect you in Azkaban? I would do so again.”

“Not even you could make Azkaban bearable, wolfie,” Harry murmured. “I’m not going back.”

“You won’t have to,” Remus assured him gently. “None of us will allow. Can you try to calm down now, cub?”

“I’ll try to,” Harry whispered, reaching for Fenrir’s hand. “You’re too thin, Siri.”

“So are you,” the older Animagus replied, kissing Harry’s temple. “I really am sorry.”

“I know, just old wounds, you know? I really don’t like blood,” Harry murmured, snuggling into the older man with a soft tremor. “I’m not angry at you. Don’t blame yourself. I need you.”

“As your mattress?” Sirius joked.

“Mostly.” Harry grinned though it was still slightly strained. “You also make for a nice godfather.”

“Thank you, Harry,” Sirius replied, startling horribly when Fenrir took Harry into his own arms, cradling the young man against his chest.

“Stupid little thing - ”

“No reproaches, please,” Harry pleaded. “I should have worn that stupid collar, I get it, I’m sorry. You were right and I belong to you.”

“Don’t say that as if it were a bad thing, little wolf,” Fenrir grumbled, kissing Harry’s temple. “I won’t have some perverted human convince you that you’re mine. I’ll convince you or no one will.”

Harry sighed, reaching into his pocket and extracting the leather band. He ran his fingers over it for a moment and then decisively clasped the collar around his throat before leaning back against Fenrir and closing his eyes.

“Oh, don’t pretend you don’t like this, wolfie,” Harry murmured. “Everyone here knows that you’re a possessive bastard.”

“Hm, maybe, but I’d rather mark you with something else than a collar.” Fenrir smirked, licking a wet stripe over Harry’s cheek. “But that will have to wait. You’re still trembling, little moonlight.”

“I don’t like blood,” Harry whispered. “And there was a lot of it.”

“Do you want to go home?” Draco offered readily, standing next to David but not touching him. “It’s no problem.”

“I’ll be fine. In fact, why don’t you all return to the party? I’ll be fine on my own.” Harry grabbed Fenrir by the hand. “Not you, Mister, but I’m sure I can keep you entertained.”

“Of course, my little human,” Fenrir agreed readily, getting Harry and himself comfortable while the others trickled out of the booth.

He carefully slipped his hand under Harry’s t-shirt, resting it lightly on his concealed baby bump and rubbing soothing circles around his belly button, Harry just breathed.

“I’m afraid to close my eyes,” Harry admitted, still trembling lightly. “I’ll see their mangled bodies.”

“I barely touched that human,” Fenrir grumbled. “You’re overreacting.”

“I **know**. But I still can’t stop it,” Harry pressed out, tugging angrily on his hair. “I’m pathetic, am I not?”

Fenrir growled softly. “No, you’re not, my silly little thing. You’re just a little... traumatised.” Harry snorted. “I’ve told you about the little girl I bit so that Chetan would have a playmate, didn’t I? After that full moon when she died I was... uneasy as well and I needed some time to come to terms with my guilt and to stop hating myself.”

Harry looked up at him and then pressed a soft kiss to Fenrir’s lips. “Thank you, wolfie.”

“Give yourself more time, alright, pretty wolf?” Fenrir murmured. “I’ll be sure to give you all the time you need.”

“Alright.” Harry nodded before resting his head on Fenrir’s chest. “I just hope our son’ll never witness one of these episodes.”

“If that should happen, we’ll explain it to him and he’ll understand,” Fenrir declared confidently, slipping an arm under Harry’s legs. “What is it with us and ending up on the floor?”

“Can’t say I mind.” Harry smiled. “Besides, more often than not I end up on **you**.”

“You like that, don’t you?” Fenrir demanded, trailing one hand suggestively over Harry’s butt. “You’re my little beautiful human, aren’t you?”

“I’m not little and I’m not beautiful, but I’m definitely human and yes, I guess, I’m yours,” Harry replied softly, pushing his head under Fenrir’s chin. “All yours.”

“I happen to think you’re everything I just said,” Fenrir argued. “But you only have to acknowledge that you belong to me, and that little one as well.” He put his hand on Harry’s stomach. “You know that I’m the proudest father-to-be, don’t you? Azkaban was horrible, but you’re the best goddamn thing that could have happened to me and I would not exchange you, change this for anything in the world.”

“What are you planning to achieve with so much flattery?” Harry teased. “You have no need to romance me. I already said that I’m yours.”

“Do you think me so arrogant and naive not to know that this could change in the blink of an eye?” Fenrir grumbled. “But I intend to keep you.”

“I intend to be kept,” Harry answered and then grimaced. “Merlin, you’re turning me into a meak little housewife.”

Fenrir barked out a laugh, lowering his head to kiss Harry’s neck, but the younger man twisted away with a small whimper and the werewolf drew back immediately instead pressing a kiss to Harry’s forehead. “Time, I know you need more time and you shall have it.”

Harry sighed, burying into Fenrir’s chest. “Thanks for saving me earlier, Fen.”

“Do you mean it, moonlight?” Fenrir demanded.

Harry cocked his head, peering up at the werewolf. “Do I mean what? Of course I’m grateful. I don’t enjoy being molested!” Fenrir’s face split into a large, teeth-baring smile and Harry narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “What the hell is wrong with you, Fen? You didn’t actually think I wanted that Muggle to touch me!”

“No, of course not,” Fenrir appeased him, still grinning. “I came just in time to save you, my little wolf.”

“What has got into you? Why are you suddenly so smug?” Harry demanded, but Fenrir merely silenced him with a long, deep kiss.

“No reason, no reason at all,” Fenrir finally declared, exploiting Harry’s breathlessness. “How about we go back out to dance some more? I can’t wait to feel your body sway against mine, delicious little thing.”

“Fen,” Harry whined, tugging on the werewolf’s silver hair.

“This. I’m happy about this,” Fenrir explained, kissing Harry’s temple. “You calling me ‘Fen’ as if it was the most natural thing in the world, without forcing yourself and without a grimace on that pretty face of yours.”

“Oh,” Harry murmured. “I didn’t notice.”

“Exactly,” Fenrir growled softly. “That’s why it’s so important to me. You’re important to me.”

“Don’t get sappy, Fen,” Harry admonished him, getting up but stretching his hand out to the werewolf, finding himself pulled flush against the older man’s chest. “This time you won’t leave me alone, right?”

“I never lost sight of you,” Fenrir growled. “And I didn’t like all those people staring at you.”

“I didn’t think you would.” Harry hummed, a lazy smirk stretching over his face. “So where’s my leash, oh master of mine?”

“I’m not your master,” Fenrir protested, and Harry smiled happily at him before Fenrir continued with a wide smirk, “I’m your Alpha. **You** are my puppy.”

Harry swung his fist at Fenrir’s chin with an outraged cry, but Fenrir only chuckled and shut Harry’s mouth with an invading kiss, ruthlessly battling Harry’s tongue and keeping Harry’s head in place with both hands.

“And now, my little wayward one, heel,” Fenrir commanded; he tugged Harry out of the booth and onto the dance floor, manoeuvring them into the middle and containing Harry’s angry hands against his chest. “Ah, sweet wolf, we wouldn’t want to portray the wrong image of our relationship, would we? Aren’t you just the devoted, submissive little plaything everyone wants but only I get?”

Harry growled testily, attempting to struggle out of Fenrir’s strong arms, but that only resulted in Fenrir tightening his hold on him, swaying him to the beat of the music as if Harry was pliant and appreciated it.

“Dammit, wolfie, I won’t stand for this. Let me go!” Harry groused, struggling against Fenrir.

“Am I scaring you?” Fenrir demanded, pulling back slightly.

“No, you’re annoying me, which is a fine but very crucial difference because it means that I will curse you if you don’t release me within the next ten seconds. One - ”

Fenrir silenced him with a kiss, cradling Harry back against his body and rocking him carefully. “As impressive as your counting abilities are, my little moonlight, I don’t think all this excitement and anger is good for the baby and it’s certainly killing the mood. Relax, or do I have to become flattering again?”

Harry sighed, glaring at Fenrir one last time before he slung his arms around the werewolf’s neck and daringly shimmied against the older man. He grinned when Fenrir’s eyes tinted yellow, his pupils dilating. The strength of Fenrir’s body, the passion in his eyes and the feeling of security that washed over Harry was enough to make him very comfortable. The werewolf to lead him through the throng of partying people, warding off all advances with a deep growl or a casual shove and always retaining bodily contact between them. Harry felt safe.

All the more surprised and shocked was he when two large hands suddenly rested on his hips and he startled and tried to twist away.

“Shh,” two voices admonished him at the same time, both of which he recognised, and he relaxed.

“You scared me.”

“Oh, sorry,” Chetan did not sound too repentant. “You just seemed to be enjoying yourself so I thought I’d join you.”

“I thought you’d have found someone else who attracted your attention by now,” Harry murmured, but slumped back against the blond werewolf.

“Oh, I did. There’re some very nice people here, but you’re still my pack.” He grinned, moving closer to Fenrir and almost squishing Harry between them.

Harry groaned, wriggling uncomfortable. “Hey, remember the pregnant wizard between you, will you? I quite like having air in my lungs, thank you very much.”

Fenrir reacted first, pushing Chetan gently away so that Harry could breathe more easily and nudged the younger werewolf’s cheek with his nose. “Be careful with my little one, Chetan.”

“I’m not made of glass, you know?” Harry muttered, annoyed that the two older men were talking over his head.

“He’s a bit irascible,” Fenrir commented conversationally, gently patting Harry’s hair. “And he’s so adorable when he’s all riled up.”

Harry pushed out from between them, glaring at the both of them. “You know, Fen, on second, more careful consideration, I decided that I’d rather dance by myself. You can keep an eye on me from afar, if you must.”

“Stay, little moonlight,” Fenrir ordered, catching Harry around the waist and fitting him back against his chest. “Just stay.”

Harry huffed, but allowed Fenrir to push his legs apart and push one of his between them, stabilising him with a possessive hand splayed over the small of his back. The black-haired man mumbled unhappily because Fenrir confined almost all of his movements, but then decided to become a bit more active and slipped his hand up the werewolf’s shirt, tracing his hard abdomen and pectorals. All muscle and golden skin. Nothing like Harry’s own bloated middle that had lost any and all traces of masculinity.

“I quite enjoy being the envy of everyone in this club,” Fenrir murmured in Harry’s ear. “You’re intoxicating, sweet one.”

“That’s the alcohol.”

“I don’t need alcohol. I need you,” Fenrir grumbled.

“I meant the people looking at me.” Harry shrugged. “They have consumed so much booze and drugs that they would find a warthog attractive. Or a scrawny pregnant wizard with a glamour charm over his fat middle.”

“You’re neither scrawny nor fat. You’re my perfect little moonlight beauty,” Fenrir argued, kissing Harry’s lips.

“You have to say that because you knocked me up,” Harry dismissed him, patting Fenrir’s chest consolingly when he growled. “Not that I don’t like to hear it of course, but you’re biased.”

“Well, I’m not and I do find you beautiful as well,” Chetan offered, ignoring Fenrir’s growl. “You’re just a little young and I would always be afraid to break you and well I’m more into taller men, but...”

“And it started so well,” Harry taunted. “Thanks for the attempt, Chetan, but I think it’d be best if you shut up now.”

“I **do** think you’re beautiful, Harry, we all think so, but you’re the Alpha’s. Completely off limits.” Chetan explained, and Fenrir growled in agreement. “Anyway, what I wanted to ask: They keep giving me those little pieces of paper with long numbers on them. What am I supposed to do with them?”

Harry chuckled, glancing over his shoulder to find Chetan staring down at a sizeable bundle of small papers and business cards. “You call them.”

“Like out loud?” Chetan asked sceptically. “And then?”

“No, you use a telephone,” Harry explained, tilting his head at Fenrir to ask non-verbally if Chetan was pulling his leg. “You know what a telephone is, don’t you?”

“No?” Chetan’s voice was soft and questioning, and he looked to Fenrir for help.

The older werewolf reached out, resting his hand on Chetan’s neck and pulling him close. “I’ll show you how to use one soon. It’s a way Muggles use to communicate with each other, so if you want to keep in contact with any of these people, you better keep their number.”

“Oh.” Chetan’s face cleared in happy realisation. “Cool. I’ll go get a few more numbers so that I can really try out this tele-thing. I can’t wait. Thank you, Alpha.”

With that he disappeared back into the crowd, determinedly heading towards a large group of girls.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Fenrir grumbled. “The opportunity just never arose.”

“Whatever,” Harry muttered. “But you better keep your promise...  Anyway, you insisted that I’m still attractive so now you’ll have to dance with me, wolfie.”

“I can imagine worse things,” Fenrir replied gently and not a little relieved to have conciliated Harry’s reproachful gaze; he rubbed his hands over Harry’s back as the small body in his arms began to move again, fluidly but shyly and with an innate grace. “And hardly anything I’d rather do right now.”

They danced and swayed and relished in their closeness, sharing one or two or three kisses. But suddenly Harry pulled out of Fenrir’s arms and quickly pushed through the people around him to the edge of the dance floor where Draco was trying to calm David. Harry slipped through under Draco’s arm that rested lightly on David’s shoulder and carefully reached out to the Death Eater.

“Shh, David, take a deep breath,” he ordered gently, rubbing slow circles in the palm of David’s hand. “And another one. Shh, not so hasty. There’s enough air, don’t hyperventilate. No one is going to hurt you. Shh.”

“Everything was going well, but then someone pushed him aside,” Draco explained softly in Harry’s ear. “I was at his side in less than a second, but...”

“It’ll be okay, Draco, just try to stay calm,” Harry murmured before turning back to David. “Look at me, David.” Harry cupped his smooth shaven cheek, tilting his face up. “Look at me.”

Suddenly David latched onto his hands, pulling Harry hard against his chest and burying his face against the younger man’s shoulder. His slim body trembled with harsh sobs, and Harry relaxed, only rounding his back to minimise the pressure on his stomach. He cooed soft nothings in David’s ear, speaking over the desperate litany of nos and pleas to stop, to not let it happen again.

“There now, we won’t allow anyone to hurt you,” Harry murmured. “Would it be alright if Draco took you in his arms as well? Let’s try at least, hm. I’m right here, you’re safe.”

He sent Draco a significant look, briefly also glancing at Fenrir, who was watching them with wary acceptance, and shifted a little to make room for Draco. The blond carefully slipped his left arm around David’s shoulder, the other coming to rest around Harry’s, before he very slowly pulled himself against their side. David whimpered and froze, but Harry kept up his encouraging stream of words, meticulously working on calming his friend.

“Too close,” David finally whispered, and Harry had to reach out quickly to stop Draco from drawing back. “He came much too close.”

“I know, but he’s gone now, and it’s only us,” the black-haired man replied gently. “No one can hurt you.”

David snorted. “I really thought I would feel at least marginally better now that they’re dead, but I’ll never be safe. There’ll always be someone like them.”

“And there will always be Harry,” Draco offered carefully. “Who will protect and look out for you and will not allow any harm to befall you.”

“And neither will Draco,” Harry added. “There’re certainly some very bad people out there, and I cannot promise you that you’ll never come in contact with one again. But you won’t be left alone with them, and we’ll do anything in our power so that you won’t be hurt again. And you’ll do to. I know you’re strong enough.”

“Sure, that’s why I’m bawling like a baby.” David sneered derisively, refusing to cower under Harry’s furious glare. “I’m anything but.”

“Well, too bad for you because I refuse to share your misconception of yourself,” Harry stated evenly. “Trust me or trust yourself. I don’t care.”

“Option one,” David muttered with a wry grimace before glancing at Draco. “You’re more reliable than I am.”

Harry laughed. “I panicked, too, remember? I’m not that stable.”

“You’re always there when I need you,” David stated simply, squeezed Harry one last time and then released him, instead turning to Draco for comfort.

The blond gently gathered him to his chest, pressing a soft kiss into his grey hair. “Shall we go home, love?”

“Yeah,” David agreed; he startled when Draco’s arms slid around his waist and took the blond’s hands to put them against his chest.

Draco smiled sheepishly, tapping the rhythm of his own heart against the older man’s chest. David grimaced at him before turning once more to Harry, who was now leaning comfortably in Fenrir’s possessive embrace, enjoying the questing hands and lips that were checking his body to make sure that he was okay.

“I’ll take you home as well, my little tired one,” Fenrir murmured into Harry’s ear. “You look dead on your feet.”

“We can stay if you want to,” Harry murmured. “I’m not that tired yet.”

“I won’t push you to exhaustion,” Fenrir stated. “Stay with those two while I get the others, alright? I don’t want you to attract any more trouble.”

Fenrir waited until Harry had once again been accepted into Draco and David’s hug and then weaved through the crowd to gather the rest of his pack. He also informed the twins that they were going, but the two redheads decided that they wanted to stay a bit longer. With Chetan, Remus and Sirius in tow, he returned to his little moonlight, immediately hogging his smaller lover and tucking him into his arms.

“I think we all had enough for today,” Fenrir grumbled, kissing Harry’s temple. “Didn’t we, my sweet wolf?”

 

Harry only sighed, leaning into Remus’ hand that caressed his cheek and smiled drowsily at his beaming godfather. “Had fun?”

“I can’t believe how much I missed this.” Sirius grinned. “Say, Moony, we can come back, can’t we? Pleeeease?”

Remus accepted Sirius’ slender body easily in his arms, brushing a kiss over the black-haired man’s temple. “Certainly, if you’d like.”

Sirius’ grin widened, and he lifted up to claim Remus’ lips with his, moaning happily when Remus pulled him flush against his body with a possessive growl.

“Hey, mind your innocent godson, will you?” Harry exclaimed, burying his head against Fenrir’s chest. “I don’t need to see that! What would my dad say if he saw you corrupting me?”

“About time!” Remus and Sirius answered in unison with wide, roguish grins, and Harry groaned. “Besides, we’re not doing anything you haven’t seen or done before,” Sirius added with a wink, and Harry looking appealingly at David.

“Save me! What did I do to warrant such a punishment?” Harry moaned and then hit the Death Eater on the arm when he chuckled. “Not you, too!”

“I’m sure you would be ecstatic if I started snogging Draco,” David muttered, rolling his eyes when the blond immediately perked up. “All that progress.”

“Well, that’s different. I’m not related to either of you,” Harry stated decisively. “And since you won’t even give me details about your dates, I doubt you would. You’re much too private.”

David shrugged in acquiescence, nodding towards Fenrir.

“You know I wouldn’t mind returning the favour and giving them a show as well,” the werewolf offered with a lascivious grin and promptly received a punch against his chest.

“Fucking perverts, the lot of you,” Harry muttered, and Fenrir laughed, though his behaviour changed immediately when Harry rubbed his stomach.

“Are you in pain, little wolf?” he asked in worry, sliding his arms around Harry’s extended waist to keep him stable. “Is something wrong with the baby?”

“Don’t say something like that!” Harry all but shouted, glaring fiercely at the surprised werewolf. “Nothing is wrong with my child!”

“I was only asking,” Fenrir defended himself, stroking soothingly up and down Harry’s spine and trying to calm Harry’s trembles again. “Shh, my little sweet thing, I’m sure the baby is fine. I only wanted to know if you’re in pain. Calm now.”

“How can I be calm when you say that my child is in danger?!” Harry demanded, still breathing heavily and reached for his wand - that wasn’t there. “Where’s my wand?”

“Calm, I got it,” Fenrir murmured, but didn’t hand Harry his wand yet, instead keeping up his soft caresses. “And I got you. We’ll go outside, get our jackets and when we’re not surrounded by Muggles anymore, I’ll give you your wand and you can check that our baby is absolutely fine. Sounds like a plan, my scared little one? Good, then.” He reached for Harry’s hand, intertwining their fingers and carefully helped Harry to push his way through the crowd, making sure that no one could touch the younger man.

When they re-entered Wizarding London, Harry was still slightly upset but no longer openly hysterical and after he had done the Ultrasound Charm and convinced himself that his baby was still healthy and strong, he slumped in Fenrir’s arms. The werewolf began to gently massage Harry’s scalp, growling soothingly into his ear.

“Okay again?” Fenrir murmured, pulling Harry up into his arms. “Do you want to see that healer?”

“I want to sleep,” Harry answered tiredly. “And since you’re already treating me like a dead deer you might as well carry me home.”

“I would like to think that there’s at least a slight difference in the way I’m treating you compared to how I would be treating a dead deer,” Fenrir grumbled, pressing a long kiss to Harry’s forehead. “Do you want to be let down, sweet white one?”

“Just take me home, Fen,” Harry whispered, snuggling into the werewolf. “It’s enough if one of us is being touchy.”

“And I guess you reserved that right for yourself,” Fenrir grumbled good-naturedly.

“I’m pregnant! I have an excuse!” Harry glared at him before burying his nose once more against Fenrir’s neck. “And I’m not doing this on purpose.”

“Of course, I know, silly thing,” Fenrir replied gruffly. “I’m very glad that you worry so much about our child. That only leaves me to worry about you - and Goddess knows I have my hands full with that.” He grinned, expecting Harry to react with annoyance, but instead he only received soft puffs of air against his neck.

He looked over his shoulder at the others, shushing them with a glare and slightly bared teeth and pressed Harry closer to his body as he stepped through the portal that brought them back to Voldemort’s headquarters.

“We’ll say our good-byes then,” Draco said softly with a quick glance at Harry’s back. “I hadn’t realised he was that tired. I hope this evening wasn’t too much for him.”

 “Oh, nonsense,” Chetan interjected cheerfully. “After a wink of sleep he’ll be up and about again, won’t he, Alpha?”

“Of course, cub,” Fenrir replied lowly so as not to disturb Harry’s sleep, briefly taking his right hand off of Harry’s back to squeeze Chetan’s neck calmingly. “Come morning, he’ll be back on his feet and just as irresistibly annoying as always.” He pressed another kiss into Harry’s hair, who mumbled something unintelligible.

“Goodnight, then,” David muttered, looking at Harry, but decided not to risk getting close to Fenrir and to say his good-byes from afar. “Tell Harry to look me up when he’s back at the castle.”

Fenrir grunted and turned away from the two wizards to lead his pack back through the portal. Chetan quickly caught up with him and so did Remus and Sirius.

“Maybe Harry could sleep in our hut tonight?” Remus offered cautiously, but Fenrir growled testily and walked through the portal. “Alpha, please?”

“No,” Fenrir retorted, quickening his steps. “Maybe another time, cub. But tonight Harry stays with me. I had to watch him from a distance for too long. I promise he’ll be perfectly fine, cub.”

Remus gave a resigned sigh but nodded, kissing Harry on the forehead before he and Sirius went to their hut. Chetan also nudged Harry’s cheek with his nose and bared his throat to his Alpha to receive an affectionate nip.

“Don’t wake Sawyer, cub,” Fenrir warned him quietly, waiting for Chetan to nod and slip into his hut before he carried Harry to his own hut, very carefully bedding Harry on the furs.

Harry sighed, rolling around and snuggling into the soft furs. “Fen?”

“Yes, it’s me, little one,” Fenrir grumbled soothingly. “I’m just going to help you out of your clothes and then you can sleep. That okay for you?”

Harry hummed, groaning softly when Fenrir took off his shoes. “My feet hurt.”

Fenrir pulled off Harry’s socks as well and then pressed two soft kisses to his big toes before rubbing the slender feet between his big hands, doing his best to massage the soreness away. Harry mewled lowly when Fenrir put his feet down again to slip off the rest of his clothes. Fenrir’s hands lingered on the moonlight skin, but he soon had to realise that Harry was on the verge of falling asleep no matter what Fenrir was to do to him or his body. Thus, he also undressed and then rearranged Harry in his arms, pulling a warm fur over the slender beauty and making sure to stay clear of Harry’s neck.

When he had settled both of them, as he thought comfortably, spooning around his smaller lover, he closed his eyes. Just to snap them open again seconds later, when Harry turned around in his embrace and began to rearrange **him** to his comfort, even poking Fenrir’s chest as if to fluff it a bit more before he rested his head over the werewolf’s heart, threw one leg and one arm over Fenrir, slipped his foot between Fenrir’s legs and then grinned up at the werewolf.

“Finally satisfied are you, little one?” Fenrir asked with an arched eyebrow.

“Not quite,” Harry replied, tugging on Fenrir’s arm to make the werewolf sling it over his lower back to hold him loosely against his own broader body. “Now, this is good.”

“And this evening in general wasn’t?” Fenrir asked, but obediently left his arm where Harry had positioned it, softly stroking his fingertips over the ridge of Harry’s back.

“It could have been worse,” Harry replied softly. “I liked dancing with you and it was good to get out for a while, but I could have done without all the excitement and all those drunks. I’m not sure if being pregnant and going clubbing is such a keen combination.”

“But you liked it,” Fenrir clarified with a wide smirk. “I told you, you would.”

“Hm, I still want a kitten,” Harry mumbled, closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep before Fenrir had formulated a reply.


	36. Consideration

“Potter, why do I have to come and get you so that you keep to our allotted meeting time?” Voldemort asked in annoyance, stepping into Harry’s room and eying the younger wizard critically.

“Can I go like this?” Harry asked, turning back to scowl at his mirror image and tugging on one shirt sleeve.

“Almost,” Voldemort replied, pulling his wand and swishing it in a soft arc to make the glamour charm over Harry’s stomach fall.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Harry demanded, reaching for his own wand while his free arm shielded his rounded stomach.

“Do not be ashamed,” Voldemort admonished him, absently summoning a pair of shiny black shoes for Harry.

“I’m not ashamed!” Harry protested. “I’m cautious and I don’t see why I should shove it into everyone’s face that I’m pregnant. There’re more than a few people out there who would take the chance to hurt my baby.”

Voldemort threw himself up to his impressive height, sneering dangerously. “I would not recommend for anyone to lay even one finger on my heir. Times are different now, Potter, you’re on the winning side and I do not expect you to stand in the front line. Feel free to hide behind my back if someone should dare to threaten or attack you.”

Harry grumbled, but obediently put on the shoes Voldemort had handed him. “You better not duck.”

“I never duck. That would be undignified,” Voldemort replied haughtily. “Besides, I told Rudolphus to come as well so immediate help will be at hand.”

“And you were doing such a good job at calming me,” Harry mocked, turning around to meet the Dark Lord’s red eyes. “I decided to call you Tom and you will call me Harry.”

Voldemort arched an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“If you insist on pretending to care for me, you might as well do without the constantly sneered Potters.” Harry shrugged. “They’re grating on my nerves.”

“I have no doubt that I can arrange that... Harry.” Voldemort inclined his head in agreement as he helped the younger man into a warm cloak. “Is your werewolf not coming?”

“Of course, he’s just in the - there he is.” Harry smiled at the werewolf, who came out of the bathroom, glowered at Voldemort and then took Harry’s face between his large hands, breathing a soft kiss over his lips. “Ready to go?”

Fenrir was wearing a classic black suit with a crisp white cotton shirt underneath, the top buttons undone to reveal the tanned skin of his throat and chest. He had got the suit from Draco, who had been appalled to learn that Fenrir intended to go in jeans and a leather jacket to the inauguration of the new ministry, and though it fit perfectly, spanning his wide shoulders and leaving enough space for his strong muscles to play under the thin material, Fenrir seemed ill at ease. Nonetheless, Harry thought he looked absolutely gorgeous and breathtaking.

“Beautiful,” Fenrir murmured, pressing another warm kiss to Harry’s lips.

“So are you,” Harry answered, earning himself a chuckle and another kiss before Fenrir wrapped his arm protectively around his waist.

“You stay close to me, you hear?” he grumbled quietly. “And tell me if you don’t feel well so that I can take you home.”

Harry good-naturedly rolled his eyes, but pecked Fenrir’s cheek and then tugged him over to Voldemort, who imperiously motioned for them to follow him to the portal.

ö_ö_ö

The party in the Ministry was already in full swing when they arrived. Black-robed wizards and witches in glittering evening gowns were mingling in the Atrium that had been completely destroyed during the war and now shone in a completely new light. The falsified fountain of the witch, wizard, centaur and house-elf had been replaced by a simple, three-terraced marble fountain. There were no figurines or inscriptions, but the water was charmed to fall in jolly arcs and spirals, sometimes shooting upwards or hopping from a lower terrace to an upper one, and generally defying all laws of gravity and flaunting the miracle of magic. The floor was of the same polished, dark wood as before, but the ceiling had been changed to a dark midnight-blue over which protective and warding runes in silver and gold flitted.

As their cloaks and jackets where carried away by magic, Lucius Malfoy came towards them with two flutes of champagne and one with orange juice floating behind him. “My Lord, good evening. Greyback. Mr. Potter, it is a pleasure seeing you again. You look positively radiant.”

Fenrir growled testily, tugging Harry closer to himself and splaying a possessive hand over his stomach. He warily looked at the blond wizard and all the other potential threats in the room and grunted unwillingly when Lucius handed him the flute of champagne, offering the orange juice to Harry. The fine glass promptly shattered in his firm grip, and Harry jumped, his eyes widening in fear and his arms moving to shield his stomach.

“Shh, my little sweet one,” Fenrir murmured, ignoring the tension of Harry’s body as he pulled him back into his arms. “It’s nothing. Drink your juice.”

Harry glared at him, his hand itching to pour his juice over Fenrir’s immaculate shirt, but then he forced himself to relax since he didn’t want to cause a scene and draw the attention of everyone. Fenrir must have noticed Harry’s anger because he carefully released his possessive hold on Harry and instead took his hand, rubbing his thumb over the fine bones.

When the younger man had relaxed again, he led the small hand to his lips, brushing a soft kiss over his knuckles, the apology that wouldn’t pass his lips clearly written in his golden eyes.

Harry sighed, but lifted to his tiptoes to peck Fenrir’s lips. “Don’t let it happen again, wolfie.”

“I wouldn’t let you come to any harm,” Fenrir murmured, tenderly rubbing Harry’s cheek with his thumb; Harry rolled his eyes.

“Ah, Mr. Potter. It’s a pleasure meeting you again,” the German chancellor interrupted their moment of peace, his face stretched into a too wide smile. “I see congratulations are in order.”

“Thank you, Mr. Kraus,” Harry said softly, reluctantly freeing his hand from Fenrir’s grasp to shake the other man’s hand. “We’re glad that you could come.”

He glanced at Voldemort, who answered to his silent plea and immediately seized the chancellor’s attention, drawing him into a discussion about the decor of the new ministry and the hors d’oeuvre. Harry was amazed by how easily Voldemort turned into a charming, charismatic and courteous man, the transition so smooth that it was almost imperceptible, as if the Dark Lord, who relished in the pain of others was just a figment of his imagination.

He also felt appreciative for a moment. That was until Voldemort, after his talk to the German chancellor, decided to show Harry off to all the other ministers, governors, presidents, and people of more or less importance, forcing Harry to actually partake in the issuing conversations. He even had the audacity to save all of Harry’s blunders and steering the conversation to another topic when he found that Harry was at a loss with the current one. It was infuriating and not a little disturbing that his one-time nemesis seemed to be able to read him so well and easily made small talk with people who should abhor his very guts.

Voldemort handed him a plate with delicious-looking cupcakes on one side and little sandwiches on the other before he turned back to the Hungarian Minister of International Magical Cooperation, complimenting the other wizard’s garish attire. Harry considered not eating anything out of protest, but the food really looked mouth-watering and he had to admit to himself that he was being irrational. He had wanted Voldemort – Tom – to be nice to him and to adopt less gruesome methods. He wanted this peace to work, and Tom was doing everything to make that happen. Harry was the one acting childish and holding on to old grudges. And all that because he found it difficult to adapt to all the changes around him and thought it safer to cling to what he already knew? Stupid! But enough was enough; Harry wasn’t going to screw this up.

“Thank you,” he said, belatedly realising that he had interrupted the Hungarian wizard’s enthusiastic monologue about the usefulness of inside pockets. “For the sandwiches, I mean. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Harry,” Voldemort answered immediately and with what seemed like genuine warmth.

“Minister, I’m sorry for the interruption.” Harry smiled apologetically at the older man. “Please continue. I never knew you could use Bottomless Charms on clothes as well...”

“Indeed you can...” The Minister quickly found back into the conversation, and Harry made a point to pay better attention; Voldemort nodded at him with approval.

Fenrir, on the other hand, wasn’t paying any attention to their conversations, instead caressing Harry’s cheek and temple, the patch of skin behind his ear, stroking his sides, his back and his stomach and hands. Only when one of their conversation partners dared to bring up the topic of Harry’s pregnancy or look at his rounded belly for a moment too long, did he draw his attention away from Harry’s body to growl angrily with bared teeth and pull Harry closer to his side, sometimes even behind himself.

“Ah, may I present to you Alpha Marrock Sharpfang?” Voldemort motioned to the tall man, who was slowly walking towards them, his muscles tensing further and further with every step. “He approached me concerning the standing of werewolves in my new society and the acknowledgment of his settlement in the Welsh Marches.”

Before Voldemort had even finished his introduction, Fenrir had shifted from behind Harry. A deep menacing roar issued from his throat that was answered only seconds later by the other werewolf. Fenrir pushed Harry behind him before he lunged. Their heavy bodies crashed, their fists connected with jaws and stomachs, their teeth tore into flesh and muscle.

Harry stared at them for a moment in incredulous anger and then turned away, brushing past Voldemort and Lucius to get to the bar where he proceeded to ignore the loud and vicious fight between the two Alphas. Let Fenrir act like a complete brute! He knew damn well what Harry’s opinion was on that matter and if he couldn’t even control his domineering urges to be considerate of Harry’s reaction to blood, fine!

A chuckle to his left made him turn his head slowly. “What are you doing?” the witch next to him asked in amusement.

Harry studied her closely before he answered. Her lips were tinted deep-red and her bottom lip was pierced, as was her left eyebrow, but her eyes were clear blue and her hair a wild, fiery red that reminded Harry of the Weasley family with a painful sting.

“Trying to get drunk on pumpkin juice,” he finally muttered, turning back to his glass and taking another deep swallow.

The witch laughed again. “You might want to try something stronger. I always found that firewhiskey has sweeping effects.”

“No thanks,” Harry answered, motioning vaguely down to his stomach. “I’ll stick to juice.”

“Oh, that.” Yet again, she laughed. “You don’t really believe that a bit of alcohol every once in a while does real harm, do you? What’s magic for? Personally, I think it’s only another pretext for our husbands to keep us at home, like the good little housewives they want us to be.”

For the first time, Harry noticed that her stomach was also extended, though not as much as his own, and he had to resist the urge to bat the flute of champagne out of her hand.

“How far along are you?” he asked instead, taking another sip of his juice.

“Fifth month, and this is actually my second pregnancy,” she replied happily. “And having a drink from time to time never did any harm. Can’t I invite you to one? Drinking alone always makes me feel like an old maid.” Her lips pursed into a small pout.

“I’m sorry, but no,” Harry murmured. “I think I won’t stray from the safe road.”

“Oh, well, I can see why. The first time round I was pretty nervous as well.” She grinned at him. “It’s much easier to enjoy it once you’ve got used to the situation. Have you done an antenatal class yet?”

“No.” Harry would have preferred to be left alone, but for whatever reason, he remembered Aunt Petunia’s admonitions to be polite and so he answered, “Not yet.”

“You should really do one. Meeting other parents-to-be can give you a whole new perspective on things,” she replied. “Have you already decided where you want to go?”

“I’m still considering,” Harry murmured, unwilling to tell a complete stranger about his plans and finished his glass of pumpkin juice.

“Well, maybe we’ll meet each other then,” she answered with more happiness than Harry could understand as natural.

“Why would you go to another class?” Harry asked despite himself.

“I wouldn’t want to miss out on all the fun.” She winked at him. “Besides, I intend to be a single parent and not a single for the rest of my life.”

“What about the baby’s father?” Harry inquired, his hand sliding to rest protectively around his stomach; he might be annoyed or angry at Fenrir from time to time, as right then, but he wouldn’t want to raise a child without two parents.

Her blue eyes darkened with hot anger, making them seem almost black, and Harry had to control himself not to pull back. He did, however, strengthen the shields around his baby, wishing that Fenrir was at his side instead of bashing the other Alpha’s head in.

“He was killed in the war,” her voice was hard and unforgiving, and Harry could hear the simmering hatred in it that would eventually consume her if she didn’t learn to live with the past, however horrible it might be.

“Many died,” Harry murmured lowly. “No one was left untouched by the war, but we all have to face the future now and put aside old differences.”

“Like you did with You-Know-Who?” she demanded with hidden sharpness in her voice.

Harry only shrugged, accepting another glass of juice from the bartender.  “You must be one of his supporters as well, or you wouldn’t be here.”

“Oh, I’m just an escort.” She laughed again; Harry wondered if someone had put a permanent Cheering Charm on her. “Though, I must have lost my date somewhere in this crowd. No matter, he was a bore, anyway... Oh, I just realised, how rude of me not to introduce myself. I’m Helen Glendower. Pleasure to meet you.”

“I guess you already know who I am,” Harry murmured.

“Of course.” She grinned almost conspiratorially at him, and Harry wondered what secret she thought they were sharing. “But it’s different to meet the man behind the rumours in person... and find that some of them are actually true.”

Harry merely grunted.

“Oh, look, they stopped fighting,” Helen exclaimed, peering over her shoulder and motioning for Harry to turn around as well. “Ouch, that looks painful.”

“Excuse me, Miss,” a smooth voice interrupted her, and a slender hand freed Harry’s arm from her excited grasp. “I hope you don’t mind too much me kidnapping my friend.” He wrapped his arm around Harry’s waist to help him up, leading him away before Helen could do more than shout a farewell after Harry.

“I didn’t know you were here,” Harry said, walking slowly next to the blond. “Is David here, too?”

“My father insisted,” Draco replied. “And no, while David thought that it was a good idea for me to come and to keep an eye on you, he also decided that he would rather spend a quiet evening at home and avoid this social gathering.”

“I should have done so as well,” Harry murmured morosely, taking another sip of his juice. “Politics I had resigned myself to, but not fighting werewolves.”

“You know of course that Fenrir sent me to look after you while he cleans up,” Draco replied. “And he always kept himself between you and the other werewolf.”

Harry snorted. “Is that supposed to make me feel better? He shouldn’t have fought to begin with. My stomach turns often enough without him adding to it.”

Harry then caught sight of Fenrir, who approached them slowly and kept a cautious eye on him. The black-haired man swivelled back around, glaring briefly at Draco.

“I don’t want to talk to him,” he stated in a hard voice. “Violence is not my language.”

“Little one,” Fenrir protested, easily catching up with Harry to pull him against his body. “Don’t be like this.”

“I’ll be however I want to be since you have no consideration for me, either,” Harry snapped. “Let me go, unless you want to hit me, too.”

“I would never hit you!”

“Oh, wouldn’t you?” Harry retorted spitefully, tilting his head to expose the bite mark on his neck. “Let me go.”

“Will you listen to me if I do?” Fenrir asked, already loosening his arms around the younger man. “I know that you’re angry, my sweet human, but I won.”

Harry snapped up his wand to erect a privacy bubble around them, spun around with an angry hiss and poured the rest of his juice down Fenrir’s fine shirt before smashing his glass in front of Fenrir’s feet. “I’m not your sweet anything! And I don’t give a shit if you won or not. You shouldn’t have fought to start with! If you want to solve all your conflicts with your fists and teeth, it’s clear who of us will get the short straw and I refuse to be the Omega of your pack!”

Fenrir growled softly, wiping some droplets from his chin before he returned Harry’s challenging glare with a calm one. “Harry, you have other qualities. You don’t have to fight for your place with us. Besides, Lin is the Omega.”

“Since when?” the black-haired man mocked.

“For a while now. Remus forced her to submit to him after she attacked you again. They fought as well, little one,” Fenrir said softly, reaching out to caress Harry’s cheek. “It’s what werewolves do.”

“Well, **he** didn’t do so in front of me,” Harry argued. “I think I’ve been quite understanding and accommodating of your werewolf ways, but I can’t deal with you beating up random people. You know I hate violence and blood and the sound of cracking bones. I hate it. It turns my stomach, makes me feel faint and reminds me of all the things I want to forget.”

“I know, little moonlight,” Fenrir murmured softly.

“Then why did you do it?” Harry half-pleaded, half-shouted. “Why can’t you have a bit of consideration for me?!”

Fenrir sighed, running his hand through his silver hair. “Would it help if I apologised?”

Harry’s green eyes sparked with new anger, and he took a menacing step towards the werewolf, the broken glass crunching under his shoes. “Do you expect me to **beg** for an apology?” he whispered dangerously. “You don’t apologise because you think that might cause you to lose face in front of your pack and because then you would have to admit that you’re not infallible, but then when you, for once, apologise, oh, you expect it to value so much more, don’t you? But it only means that it counts for nothing because you still don’t mean a fucking word. You always blame me for **everything**. If only I had done this or hadn’t done that, everything would have been perfect, wouldn’t it? It’s always me because I provoke you and misunderstand you and don’t trust you, even though you give me so **many** reasons to, don’t you? I’m always at fault, of course! And now you ask me if I want an apology? Fuck you! You can stuff your apology up your ass where it comes from and - “

“Harry, step out of the glass,” Fenrir demanded, worry edging his words sharper than he had intended. “You could get hurt.”

“No.” Harry retorted stubbornly, tilting his head up.

“Small one...”

“What, are you going to do, force me? Beat me out of the **zone of danger**?” Harry mocked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Fenrir growled deeply, swept Harry into his arms to deposit him safely several feet away from the smashed glass. He then dropped to his knees in front of Harry to rest his head against Harry’s stomach.

“What are you - ?”

“I can’t apologise, sweet wolf, because I can’t allow myself to be weak. I have to be strong because my pack relies on me to know what to do, to protect and comfort them,” Fenrir murmured, resisting Harry’s hands that tried to push him away. “It does not mean that I’m not sorry for scaring you or making you uncomfortable. I regret that I brought back bad memories for you and caused you distress or made you feel weak.”

“I never said that I felt weak,” Harry protested.

“No, I guess you didn’t but I read between the lines.” Fenrir grinned up at his lover, feeling that he had finally cracked through Harry’s defensive anger and stood up to take the smaller man into a warm embrace. “Though, I can tell you that you have no reason to feel that way. You have all the weapons to beat me in any fair or unfair fight: Your wit.” He kissed Harry’s forehead. “Your stubbornness.” Another kiss was bestowed to the tip of Harry’s nose. “Your incredible beauty.” He carefully leaned in to claim Harry’s lips, pulling the slender body of his lover closer to himself when Harry opened his lips in response. When he pulled back, he kept Harry close, tracing his spine and breathing in his familiar scent. “And of course, my love for you.”

“And I know that you’re incredibly ticklish,” Harry muttered after a while, and Fenrir laughed in relief.

“Exactly, so what have you got to fear?”

“I don’t like blood.”

“I know, my little sweet wolf,” Fenrir murmured tenderly, bedding Harry’s head against his chest. “And I’ll do my best so that you’ll never have to see a drop of it again, but if someone challenges my position as the Alpha I **have** to answer.”

“Too late,” Harry mumbled. “There was still blood in your hair and now it’s on my fingers.” He shuddered, closing his eyes firmly. “And there’s blood on your shirt.”

“Alright, no problem, I’ll take care of this,” Fenrir promised decisively, carefully disentangling himself from Harry. “Keep your eyes closed, white wolf.”

“Okay,” Harry whispered, still trembling lightly.

Fenrir kept one hand on Harry’s shoulder as he broke the Privacy Bubble with a careless wave of his hand and then motioned Draco to his side, quickly telling him what he needed him to do. Draco nodded readily and summoned a wet towel which he handed to Fenrir before he spoke a few more spells on the werewolf. Fenrir meanwhile, pulled Harry’s hands up, gently cleaning them with the wet towel before he pressed a tiny kiss to each finger tip.

“Marrock, you as well,” he ordered evenly, briefly locking eyes with the other werewolf; Marrock quickly looked away and allowed Draco to spell him clean of any traces of blood or their fight. “Sweet moonlight, you can open your eyes again.”

Harry’s eyes warily fluttered open, taking in Fenrir’s unruffled appearance, his hair that once again looked combed, his shirt that was as crisply white as at the beginning of this evening, the dress pants that were free of dirt or tears and the rapidly healing cut over his left eyebrow. Then Fenrir swooped down to kiss him, stealing his breath and doubts away.

“Are we good again, my little silly thing?” the werewolf asked with a satisfied smirk, tracing Harry’s high cheek bone with his thumb.

“Fine, wolfie,” Harry replied with a sigh, allowing the werewolf to tuck him more comfortably under his arm. “Do you expect congratulations now?”

Fenrir grinned, leaning down to whisper suggestively into Harry’s ear. “They can wait until later, my little eager human.”

“Don’t stretch it,” Harry warned. “That was a rhetorical question.”

“Didn’t sound all that rhetorical to me,” Fenrir answered blithely, earning himself a fierce glare, which he answered with a deep growl of his own.

“Guys,” Draco spoke up, making a step as if he wanted to separate the two with his body. “I thought you had resolved your issues? Why do you have to start another fight?”

“Of course, we did,” Harry answered, cocking his head at the blond. “We’re not fighting.” He demonstratively lifted to his tip toes to brush a kiss over Fenrir’s cheek. “I just have to show my big, bad wolfie who’s the boss, don’t I?”

“I think I know already, my little, **little** one,” Fenrir grinned, capturing the smaller man’s fist and holding it against his heart. “But I’ll gladly show you again. And again. And again.” He swiped out his tongue, licking over Harry’s cheek.

“Pervert!” The younger man muttered, but it sounded fond rather than rightfully offended, and Fenrir chuckled, pressing a kiss between Harry’s eyes.

“Only for you.”

“That makes me feel **so** special,” Harry taunted; Fenrir pinched his bottom in warning though his eyes were still sparkling gold with amusement.

“Good, my special little human,” the werewolf grumbled in Harry’s ear before he turned them around to face Harry’s blond friend and Marrock, whose left eye was still ringed a little black. “Harry this is Marrock.”

“No shit,” Harry mumbled, but smiled at the black-skinned werewolf with the deep brown eyes and the white teeth that gleamed in his dark face; he was just as muscular as Fenrir, and Harry had to crane his neck to meet his eyes. “Pleasure to meet you, sir, though for me a simple handshake will do.”

“The pleasure is all mine.” He took Harry’s proffered hand, squeezing very carefully before releasing it again, his eyes lingering on Harry’s swelling stomach. “I heard of you of course, Mr. Potter, but notice of your attachment to Alpha Fenrir had not reached me yet. It’s quite a surprise.”

Harry rolled his eyes because it seemed that Voldemort - Tom - had withheld that bit of information to not ruin his reputation completely. “I’m sure it will be in the Prophet come morning.”

“As long as you’ll be in my arms come morning, I don’t care,” Fenrir whispered, caressing Harry’s side and nudging his cheek with his nose. “And you will be.”

Harry laughed, smiling up at his lover before he turned back to Marrock, whose gaze strayed more often than not to Harry’s belly. “Voldemort said that your pack lives in Wales? Did they come with you?”

“No, but I’m sure that they will be fine.” Marrock grinned a little, crinkles appearing next to his eyes. “They are mostly a very reliable bunch.”

“How many pack members do you have?” Harry asked, glad that the foreign Alpha did not seem to begrudge them the beating he had received.

“Six, though we never had the honour that a pregnant person would choose to live with us and trust in our protection.” A shadow flitted over his eyes before he smiled once more at Harry. “I hope there aren’t any problems with the biological father.”

“Oh, Fen can be a right prat at times, but I know he wouldn’t intentionally hurt either of us,” Harry replied, though he was slightly confused and looked questioningly up at the silver-haired werewolf.

Fenrir tightened his arms around Harry before he answered Marrock. “I am the child’s biological father. My little human survived the full moons because he’s an Animagus. There was never another man involved.”

Harry snorted. “I would hope not, but that’s no reason for you to look so smug. As I see it, I’m doing most of the work here.”

“Isn’t that in the nature of things?” Draco asked rhetorically, and Harry glared at him.

“You know I’d do anything to help you,” Fenrir intervened, leaning down to kiss Harry’s temptingly pouting lips. “All you have to do is ask.”

Harry snorted again, rubbing a hand soothingly over his stomach and then tugged on Fenrir’s arm to make the werewolf put it around his waist. “That’s what I want.”

He could feel the pleased rumble in Fenrir’s chest and the warm pressure of the werewolf’s arousal at his bottom and briefly closed his eyes to cherish this feeling.

“I hope you took no offense to my words,” Marrock spoke up softly, catching Harry’s eyes with something like trepidation. “It just is hard to believe that finally a werewolf’s child will be born, that the curse of infertility and childlessness should finally be broken.”

“No worries there.” Harry smiled reassuringly. “Fen’s pack was rather surprised as well, and if I had known that wizards can get pregnant... I would have at least waited a bit longer.”

Fenrir growled deeply. “We wouldn’t have taken that risk,” he said with finality. “And we won’t take that risk again.”

“We’ll see about that,” Harry replied with a carefree grin, nudging Fenrir’s side with his elbow. “I don’t think you can make this decision on your own, my Alpha.”

“That’s the advantage of being the Alpha,” Fenrir grumbled, gently bending Harry’s head to the side though he stayed clear of the smooth, milky skin. “Harry is a miracle for our pack, Marrock, but he’s a danger to himself, aren’t you, my little wolf?”

“Hey!” Harry exclaimed, trying to free himself from Fenrir’s grasp, but the werewolf didn’t release him.

“Shush, small one,” Fenrir murmured, his eyes still fixed on Marrock. “He doesn’t conceive any idea of how dangerous this whole pregnancy is for him, and when he’s in pain he ignores it until it gets too strong to be ignored. He almost died a couple of times.”

“I survived!” Harry interrupted, twisting in Fenrir’s embrace. “You’re blowing things out of proportion.”

“And that would be an outright lie,” Fenrir commented, still towards Marrock, who was watching them with amused interest. “If anything, that was still an understatement. Though, I must admit that I’m incredibly fond of my little human and my cub... Hold still, sweet one.”

“You’ll give me a crick,” Harry complained, sounding as whiny as possible. “You’ll break my neck.”

“You’ll be fine if you relax,” Fenrir replied, unimpressed. “You see, Marrock - ”

“I don’t want to relax,” Harry interrupted him. “I want you to let go.”

Fenrir put his free hand over Harry’s mouth to silence him, promptly receiving a vicious bite which he ignored. “He isn’t completely tame yet, but... I’d never want him to be.” With that, he released Harry. “He’s perfect like this. My little moonlight.”

Harry was thrown off guard by the unexpected tenderness in his voice, and it made him release his anger in one gigantic whoosh until he was just happily being held against his lover’s strong body, not restrictive as before, just protective and safe.

“What was that for?” he still grumbled, demonstratively massaging his neck. “I’m sure you pulled some hair out. If I become prematurely bald, I’ll blame you and you alone.”

Fenrir chuckled, soothingly carding his fingers through Harry’s dense mop of unruly black hair. “I wanted to do that.”

“Well, next time you’re overwhelmed by such an urge give me some warning, will you?” Harry replied petulantly, absently tracing the lines in Fenrir’s roughened hand.

“I might consider it,” Fenrir answered, pinching Harry’s bottom.

Draco had watched their behaviour with a light scowl. “You really should be more careful, Mr.- Grey- Fe-.”

“Do not stutter, son, it is unbecoming for the Malfoy heir,” Malfoy Sr. admonished his son, passing behind them and squeezing Draco’s shoulder in warning.

“Thanks a lot, dad,” Draco muttered under his breath. “That helps.”

“You know better than to mumble,” Lucius reprimanded him again. “Remember the Malfoy Book of Conduct, Rule 22.”

Draco took a deep breath then pulled back his shoulders. “Mr. Greyback, Harry is pregnant and you should really not manhandle him because I’m sure you do not wish for Harry to miscarry. And I’m not saying that you will, Harry, just maybe that you should be a bit more careful.”

Fenrir growled, though it didn’t sound truly angry, and he tenderly caressed Harry’s baby bump.

“You have a rule book?” Harry asked incredulously, briefly twisting around to peck Fenrir’s cheek. “What does this ingenious rule 22 say?”

“Respected older persons are generally addressed by their surname in connection with their title, unless they offer to be addressed by more familiar terms, namely their given name,” Draco recited, smirking when Harry all but gaped at him. “I can understand your awe, but I hope you still caught what I said. You need to take better care of yourself or did you not read the books I gave you?”

“Of course I did,” Harry protested with a roll of his eyes. “But I feel fine, absolutely fine. You can all stop worrying and leave this to me. I don’t need Fen to be even more of a worrywart, Draco.”

“I don’t doubt Mr. Greyback’s ability to worry about you,” Draco argued. “But sometimes I think he forgets his own strength or that you have no werewolf healing.”

Harry rolled his eyes, but Fenrir tensed behind him and the werewolf leaned down to put his mouth over Harry’s ear, whispering in Harry’s ear, “He’s right, you know, my little one? You’ll always be my little white wolf.”

“Good,” Harry stated decisively, turning around in Fenrir’s embrace to be able to meet his golden eyes. “What else would I be?”

“Pregnant,” Fenrir grumbled, massaging Harry’s back and bowing his head to rest his forehead against Harry’s. “Tell me honestly, do I need to be more careful?”

“No, big bad wolf, if I ever need you to stop I’ll let you know.” He knew that it didn’t really matter what he said as long as he said it right and so he took Fenrir’s large head between his hands, locking his eyes with the werewolf’s; from the way Fenrir’s tense muscled relaxed in relief, he’d done it right and he grinned. “Now, I thought you wanted to show off with me being pregnant?”

“Impossible,” Fenrir grumbled. “I’m too busy showing off your tight little ass.”

Harry laughed brightly, then dropped his forehead to Fenrir’s chest and pressed closer when the tall man moved his hands to his butt, squeezing possessively. “Don’t let me disturb you, then.”

Fenrir growled a soft accordance and then glared at Marrock, who was still watching them avidly while Draco had disappeared somewhere in the crowd. “He’s mine.”

The other werewolf ducked his head, hunching his broad shoulders submissively and muttered a soft apology before he abruptly turned around and away from them.

“I’m sure he was only curious,” Harry murmured, rubbing his flat hands over Fenrir’s hard pectorals. “Merlin knows, the way your pack is treating me, I must seem like a fucking miracle to you.”

“You are,” Fenrir replied simply.

Harry’s eyes narrowed, a sharp retort already forming in his throat, when he realised that he had Fenrir exactly where he wanted him. “See, then, you shouldn’t blame Marrock for forgetting his manners. I don’t like you being jealous, Fen.”

Fenrir grunted, but he reached out, gently rubbing his thumb over Harry’s cheekbone and made a visible effort to cover the jealous gleam in his eyes with something tamer. He didn’t want Harry to get scared. It was bad enough that he had already once given Harry a reason to be scared, he didn’t need to repeat such a mistake. He hated the guarded look in Harry’s eyes, the way his supple body was set and ready to flee, hard with tension. He hated the memory of a scent of fear.

So he forced himself to relax, to see things from a rational point of view, from the point of view where Harry was in his arms and where he had already forced Marrock into submission. It wasn’t such a bad point of view, Fenrir concluded, his hands absently wandering up and down Harry’s back. Harry really needed to relax or he would get a cramp. Fenrir didn’t want that. He wanted Harry safe and sound and happy. Preferably with his own cock buried in that tight ass, but that was another story, though it made him grin.

His grin seemed to be the sign Harry had waited for and he heaved a long sigh before slumping a little as the fear left his body. Fenrir’s grin grew wider and Harry rolled his eyes before he spied something behind Fenrir that made him groan.

“I got to use the loo,” he muttered and before Fenrir could stop him, he had slipped away.

When Fenrir turned around, he saw Voldemort and some other wizards, who seemed to be headed in his direction, and he bared his teeth.


	37. Happiness

When Harry had relieved himself, too much juice, he washed his hands and stared at his reflection in the mirror that magically enlarged to ceiling-high. He recognised himself, barely, because he was still too thin, his eyes too large, too haunted, his cheekbones too sharp, his hair too wild, his skin too pale. He remembered all that, but the impressive swell of his stomach surprised him. Was he really that fat? He turned to the side for closer inspection, but then quickly reversed his movement because standing with his side to the mirror, made him look like even more of a whale.

He scowled, then scowled a little harder when he realised that he didn’t look happy. Tired, drawn, tense, yes, but not happy. Even though he was, he was pretty sure of that. He had his godfathers and a place to belong, people he cared about and who cared about him in return. What was wrong with him? He even would have a family of his own, blood family, family that no one would be able to take away from him because it was real and substantial, not the feeble replacements he had found with the Weasleys or Remus. He should be over the moon, and he was, wasn’t he? Yes, dammit, he was!

He defiantly spun around and left the bathroom. It must have been the light in the bathroom, too bright, too harsh, casting shadows where no shadows had ever been and tinting his skin with deathly pallor as if to spite reality. Harry was quite happy with that explanation. Besides, he wasn’t vain so why should he care what he looked like? He would just keep away from mirrors and be happy to believe Fen’s compliments.

He smiled when he thought of the big man and the part of him that had still been miffed about the mirror incident crowed at that smile as if saying, “See, I’m happy. I told you so.” There was really no doubt that Fenrir made him happy, exceedingly so and with an ease that told Harry that his care and love was genuine and real. Harry needed that knowledge more than anything. He needed to know that Fenrir was genuine, not pretending, not faking anything, that he had no ulterior motives, except perhaps, to get into Harry’s pants. But it wasn’t like Fenrir made a secret of that fact, either, Harry thought with a wry little snort that seemed strangely loud in the empty corridor.

But Harry relished in the silence, after the hustle and bustle in the Atrium, after being dragged here and shown off there. Let them amuse themselves without him. Harry was going to enjoy the quietude of the empty corridors, walk around the new ministry, maybe go outside for a bit. Fresh air sounded heavenly.

But then, with a sigh, he realised that he would have to somehow get through the Atrium if he wanted to use the portal and there was no chance of him going unseen. The corridor would just have to do and maybe he could find a window, artificial or not.

Suddenly a large hand covered his mouth and part of his nose and a heavy arm wrapped around his middle, pulling him against a hard chest, forcing him to walk backwards. He struggled, twisting, turning, biting the hand in front of his mouth until he felt the tangy taste of blood in his mouth, raging his magic against the unknown attacker. The hold on him didn’t loosen or tighten in the slightest, nor did the man miss a step or make a sound of pain. Instead he chuckled, and Harry relaxed, his panic releasing in one harsh, broken sob.

“Shh, my little wild thing, it’s me,” Fenrir murmured in his ear, sounding far too amused for Harry’s frayed nerves, and pulled Harry into one of the side rooms that was used as a wardrobe.

Finally, the hand slipped away from his face, and Harry gulped in a deep breath before he tried to turn around to take Fenrir to task about this little stunt. But the werewolf wouldn’t allow it, and Harry had no choice but to talk into the dark.

“Fen, dammit, do you want to scare me to death?!” he hissed, knowing that Fenrir found his anger amusing without having to see his face. “Don’t do that ever again!”

One of Fenrir’s hands rested heavily between his shoulder blades, gently but persistently guiding him more into the room until Harry stood in front of a waist-high cupboard.

“What - ?”

“I want to fuck you,” Fenrir stated simply with a deep growl in his voice that sent a pleasant, if still a bit indignant shiver down Harry’s spine.

“And you think just because the fancy strikes you, I’ll bend over?” he still asked.

“Yes,” Fenrir replied with a satisfied smirk, his hand growing heavier on Harry’s back. “Brace yourself, little wizard.

“Will you at least consider that I’m still pregnant?” Harry demanded. “You’ll squish my stomach if you fuck me against the cupboard.”

“Let that be my worry. I won’t repeat myself, sweet one. Do as I say,” Fenrir insisted, but still walked over to the rack of fine cloaks, quickly shifting through them and sniffing them occasionally. “That’s the cloak of your new friend, too much perfume,” he stated disapprovingly, discarding the wine-red winter cloak and reaching for another one.

“She’s not a friend,” Harry protested. “She just started to talk to me and then wouldn’t shut up... I didn’t notice the perfume.”

“Because you kept away from her, good,” Fenrir replied, and Harry wasn’t sure if the ‘good’ referred to Harry’s actions or the soft velvet cloak he had found and now placed under Harry’s stomach, carefully folded and bundled to protect his baby bump.

But it seemed that this simple act had completely depleted Fenrir’s stock of consideration, and his large hand once again unrelentingly pressed down on Harry’s back until Harry had no choice but to brace himself against the cupboard with his arms if he didn’t want to squish his face against the polished wood.

“Fen...”

The werewolf made a non-committal sound that could have been just as well a prompt for Harry to continue as a warning to shut up and go along with this. Meanwhile, Fenrir was already unbuckling Harry’s belt, unzipping his pants and pushing them down over his slim hips so that they pooled around his feet.

“What if I don’t want to?” Harry demanded, shifting a little before Fenrir’s hips snapped against his bare buttocks, confining his movement.

“I think you do,” Fenrir replied, his hand briefly slipping to Harry’s groin and ghosting teasingly over his growing arousal. “If not, tell me to stop.”

Harry grumbled in displeasure, and Fenrir chuckled, leaning over Harry’s back to nibble on his earlobe while Harry heard him fumbling with his dress pants until they too whispered to the floor. Harry bit his bottom lip to contain the embarrassing whimper that wanted to escape him when Fenrir’s heavy erection pressed between his arse cheeks, leaving a wet smear of precome on his skin.

Fenrir’s voice was a low growl in his ear, soothing and reassuring and oh-so-arousing. “I want to fuck you, little sweet wizard. I need to.”

“Yeah,” Harry croaked, pressing his ass back wantonly. “Please.”

The chuckle vibrated through his whole being, distracting him enough that the slick finger that slowly but unhaltingly pressed into him came as a surprise. He hissed, arched his back, whimpered; Fenrir pressed on, twisted his finger sharply, drawing a pained moan from the younger man that turned soon after into a moan of pleasure when the finger apologetically massaged his insides, widening him methodically and nudging his prostate with unerring precision.

“That’s it,” Fenrir praised, pushing another finger into the younger man. “You’ll relax for me, won’t you?”

“Fuck, Fen, don’t -” Harry was interrupted by a high-pitched scream that to his utmost humiliation issued from his own throat.

“I thought so.” Fenrir smirked, squeezing a third finger in besides the first two while his free hand alternated between stroking the insides of Harry’s thighs, his hips and his stomach.

Harry lifted his foot, intent on kicking back against Fenrir’s shin to finally wipe the smugness from his voice, but all that resulted in was him losing his balance and sharp pain to flare up his spine when Fenrir’s fingers were forced into him at an odd angle. Fenrir’s left hand fastened on Harry’s hip immediately to still and stabilise him, and he grumbled soothingly in Harry’s ear. Harry cursed under his breath, his bruised pride much more painful than the hurt in his backside.

Fenrir pressed his lips to the soft patch of skin behind Harry’s ear before flicking out his tongue as his fingers slipped out of the black-haired man, who moaned in protest. The werewolf was holding his hips with both hands now, leaving Harry no chance to pull away when he shoved into the slender wizard in one smooth trust. This made stars dance in front of Harry’s vision, leaving him without breath or even the desire to ever breathe again. Fenrir howled in pleasure, his muscular body moulding itself against Harry’s thin back like an attacking tiger, the heavy, warm, dangerous weight of a predator. With sharp teeth. Harry jerked when Fenrir’s questing mouth wandered a bit too low for his tastes, and he closed his eyes against the feeling of having failed Fenrir once again.

Of course, Fenrir wouldn’t bite him. Of course, he wouldn’t. Would he?

Fenrir’s lips had returned to behind his ear, gently suckling and sliding over the sensitive skin, as if he had intended to do that all along. As if he wasn’t disappointed. But Harry knew that he was and he squeezed his muscles around Fenrir’s erection, pushing back against the werewolf encouragingly, hoping that Fenrir would accept his way of apologising.

His answer was a deep growl, calloused fingers digging into his hips and Fenrir hammering in and out of him like he wanted to beat something inside of Harry into submission. From the keening noises Harry couldn’t stop, Fenrir was having success and soon the large man buried his head between Harry’s sharp shoulder blades, howling out his orgasm. His full weight crashed onto Harry’s back, and he only then realised how much restraint Fenrir had put into his movements in spite of his aroused state to avoid crushing Harry or pushing him into the cupboard. Harry’s arms threatened to give out under him after only a split second, and he made a distressed sound.

Fenrir reacted immediately, straightening up and catching Harry around the waist before he could come in contact with the cupboard or the floor. Fluidly he scooped Harry up, bedding him on top of the cupboard with his legs dangling over one side. He felt much too vulnerable in this position and wanted to at least draw his legs up and together, but Fenrir stopped him, resting his hands on Harry’s thighs.

“It’s good like this,” he declared, and Harry stared incredulously at him. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

Harry sighed, closing his eyes in resignation. He wouldn’t deny that he liked this because considering his proud erection that was rather pointless, but it would have been nice if Fenrir had allowed him a little more input or given him an at least marginally more active role. He felt himself being pulled closer to the side of the cupboard so that his hips just rested on the edge and Harry’s hands scrambled for purchase so that he wouldn’t slip completely, finally fisting in the cloak.

He expected Fenrir to push into him once more. What he didn’t expect was a hot mouth closing around his cock and sucking with ardour, rough hands playing with his testicles and a large thumb pressing into the stripe of skin behind them before wandering further back, finding his stretched entrance and dipping in.

Harry moaned, trashing his head from side to side as he tried in vain to press closer and move from his unfavourable position. A chuckle vibrated in Fenrir’s mouth, sending too pleasant shivers through Harry’s body and what should have been the werewolf’s name turned into an incoherent noise of supplication.

Fenrir complied, nonetheless, lifting Harry’s legs onto his shoulders and then nipping and licking his way down to his thumb. Harry shuddered and trembled, his eyes squeezed shut against the overload of sensations when Fenrir started to suckle _there_ , skirting his tongue over the puckered skin and lapping at his own semen that slowly trickled out of Harry. The green-eyed man moaned enthusiastically, locking his calves behind Fenrir’s neck to draw him in closer, to get more of that, whatever it was.

The werewolf’s broad nose nudged Harry’s testicles as he latched his mouth onto the pink entrance, sucking forcefully and even darting his tongue into Harry’s hot warmth. Harry whimpered, biting his bottom lip and then released with a sob of Fenrir’s name. The silver-haired man hummed reassuringly, mouthing his way back up to clean up the mess Harry had left on his stomach.

When Fenrir had finished to his satisfaction he got up from his knees, leaning over Harry to breathe a soft kiss over those swollen lips. “I love you, Harry.”

And just like that, Harry’s embarrassment, his humiliation and his resentment at being bent and manhandled and pushed drained from him to be replaced by a foolishly fuzzy feeling of sated contentment.

“You too,” he mumbled, pulling Fenrir’s head down for a deeper kiss and caressing Fenrir’s strong jaw with the tips of his fingers. “But - ”

“Nothing but,” Fenrir stopped him. “Don’t fault me for your enjoyment, moonlight. You don’t always have to fight me, sweet wolf, sometimes, if only sometimes, you can be a bit more docile. It would make me happy, and you like making me happy, don’t you?”

“I have other ways to make you happy,” Harry quipped drowsily.

Fenrir chuckled good-naturedly. “That you have, my little wild thing, that you have.” He kissed Harry’s nose before straightening up.

“Where are you going?” Harry demanded, sitting up with some difficulty and blinking in the darkness to make out Fenrir’s tall form.

“Shh, I’m just changing positions,” Fenrir soothed him, sitting down on the cupboard, which creaked under his weight, and pulled Harry’s head into his lap. “I know you’re tired. Rest.”

He started to massage Harry’s scalp with slow, firm strokes, grinning to himself when Harry all but purred at the contact, arching his body to push his head more into his hand. After a while, Harry turned to his side, folding his legs loosely against his body, and even though Harry seemed ignorant of how his shirt had ridden up to reveal his smooth little butt, Fenrir certainly wasn’t. Slowly his fingers trailed from the hair that was just as rebellious as Harry’s character, skipping over throat and neck, down to Harry’s slender shoulders, always defiantly squared and still not all that impressive compared with Fenrir’s massive bulk, over the flat chest and swelling stomach that held a new life, a little miracle just like Harry, to the sharp hips that had swayed so tantalisingly all evening and then finally cupped the sweet ass.

Harry mumbled something, maybe it was only a loud sigh or a shaky moan, Fenrir couldn’t tell for sure, but he thought it endearing that Harry’s spit-fire eloquence was all but gone after their activities. It made Harry seem all that more vulnerable, touchable, real and his. He gave the firm little butt a experimental swat to see if he could startle a reaction out of Harry, but he only received an unwilling grumble.

With a chuckle, he started to rub Harry’s butt soothingly before he eventually slipped his hand between Harry’s thighs, not to initiate any more action, but just to enjoy the intimacy and stake his claim.

 “’s not how I planned this evening.” Harry shifted his head a little so that his breath ghosted over Fenrir’s manhood that was already stiffening in interest.

 “No?” Fenrir smirked. “Funny, I planned to taste that tight ass of yours all evening.”

Harry snorted. “But of course. That’s why you brought lube with you.”

 “Got it in one,” Fenrir replied easily. “You don’t honestly think I came here for the food, do you?”

 “You can fuck me any time you want to at home,” Harry muttered. “I told you that you didn’t need to come.”

 “I know.” Fenrir leaned down to kiss Harry’s brow. “But I wanted to fuck you here so that I can make love to you at home. I have to offer you a bit of variety, don’t I?”

A lazy grin spread over Harry’s face, and he blinked one eye open at him. “That you do, wolfie. You have to keep me entertained.”

“Or what?” Fenrir asked suspiciously; Harry’s grin broadened and he hummed enigmatically, but didn’t answer, and Fenrir growled. “Tell me.”

“Make me.” Harry laughed, with a coy little flutter of his eyelashes, squeaking when the werewolf pinched his bottom.

“I want an answer, now,” Fenrir growled, but his hand soothingly caressed the sore spot he had just pinched and then slid back between Harry’s thighs, his thumb pressing against Harry’s entrance.

“Nothing. Was just teasing,” Harry whispered, digging his fingers into Fenrir’s thigh, but other than that, kept absolutely still. “I wouldn’t cheat on you, Fen.”

“I know.” The silver-haired man grinned smugly, rubbing over the velvety folds of skin. “And I wouldn’t use this to punish you, my little beautiful human. I know you enjoy this too much.”

Harry grumbled, but gradually relaxed his fingers again. “As if you don’t.”

“But there’s no problem with me enjoying punishing you, is there?” Fenrir asked rhetorically, his free hand running over Harry’s cheek, the caress more intimate than it had any right to be, and the younger man sighed.

“As long as you don’t enjoy it too much,” Harry murmured with that amused glint in his eyes as if to tell Fenrir that he was a lost cause anyway and that he had seen right through him. “Or I will have to punish you.”

Fenrir chuckled before leaning down to breathe in Harry’s ear, “You’re welcome, any time you feel like it, my little strict one.”

Harry rolled his eyes, but then allowed a laugh to slip, patting Fenrir’s strong thigh. “Don’t tempt me, wolfie.”

“Payback is a bitch,” Fenrir commented, idly stroking Harry’s exposed skin, tracing a white scar that escaped the spiderweb on his back and brushed the top of one creamy buttock.

“Higher,” Harry ordered, pushing back against Fenrir’s hand.

“What?”

“My back hurts. You could give me a massage, now.” Harry once again pushed against Fenrir’s hand, groaning happily as the werewolf started rubbing slow half moons on the small of Harry’s back, alternating the force until he found the right pressure.

Harry sighed blissfully, nuzzling his cheek against Fenrir’s thigh, and enjoyed that Fenrir was so focussed on making him feel better without giving Harry the impression that he a fragile flower or only important because of the child he was carrying. He didn’t even notice when he slipped off to sleep.

But Fenrir noticed, gentling his strokes and tugged the cloak over Harry’s legs when he noticed goose bumps appear on the smooth skin. He didn’t mind watching Harry sleeping since he knew how tired Harry had to be and was silently glad that Harry was finally listening to his body that was clamouring for rest so loud that even a deaf person would have been able to hear it.

He leaned back against the wall, drawing one knee loosely up onto the cupboard to cradle his slender lover. With half an ear, he listened for steps in the corridor, but everything was quiet and his one and a half ears were free to listen to Harry’s quiet breathing. The row of Harry’s pale fingers rested lightly on his bare thigh, clenching sporadically as he dreamt, and Fenrir had to resist the urge to lift them to his lips to kiss every single fingertip.

Instead, he slowly moved his hand to rest on Harry’s baby bump, careful not to startle the young Animagus. Harry shifted a little, his breath hitching for a moment before it evened out again.

Fenrir allowed his little moonlight to sleep for half an hour before Harry woke on his own. “Huh?” He yawned, stretching and blinking sleepily up at the werewolf. “’d I miss something?”

“No, nothing important,” Fenrir soothed him, putting his index finger against Harry’s temple where he could feel the soft fluttering of his pulse. “You needed a bit of rest.”

Harry didn’t protest, which Fenrir took as a good sign. Instead the younger man turned his head a fraction and sank his teeth into the inside of Fenrir’s thigh, not quite breaking through the skin. The werewolf groaned then growled, fisting his hand into Harry’s hair though he could not quite decide if he should tug Harry away or push him down harder. The younger man laughed, gently lapped at the bite mark, soothing the irritated skin and sending pleasant tingles through Fenrir’s entire body.

“Little madcap,” Fenrir grumbled, and Harry snorted, grinning up at him, completely unrepentant but more than a little challenging.

Fenrir growled good-naturedly. “Aiming for another fight, silly little thing? Haven’t you learned your lesson, yet?”

“I think I’ll never learn.” Harry exposed his throat as if by accident, sweet submission for Fenrir to take, and then tilted his chin defiantly. “And what’s more, I think I never want to learn.”

“I think I never want to stop teaching you lessons,” Fenrir replied with a broad grin of his own, and Harry rolled his bright green eyes before closing them again.

“I have one or two lessons to teach you as well, wolfie. And I’ll make sure that **you** will learn,” he murmured.

“Go right ahead,” Fenrir offered easily, caressing his fingers over Harry’s cheek.

“Don’t sneak up on me,” Harry replied immediately.

“You can’t smell me, I hadn’t thought about that,” the werewolf agreed, and though it wasn’t an apology, nor an admission of guilt, it was good enough for Harry. “Do you want to rest a bit longer, sweet wolf?”

Harry hummed. “I’m thirsty.”

“Do you want me to get you something?” Fenrir suggested, tracing his thumb over Harry’s lips as if to check that they weren’t parched. “Juice?”

“Don’t move,” Harry stopped him. “Not yet. Three more minutes.”

Fenrir settled down again, and they fell into a companionable silence. But when the werewolf noticed that Harry was drifting off again, he carefully cradled Harry’s head, keeping it steady as he hopped from the cupboard and then bedding it back on the coat.

“I’ll be right back, little one, okay?” He brushed a brief kiss over Harry’s lips before he straightened up.

Harry hummed, twisted around and blindly fumbled for his trousers. Fenrir, who realised what Harry wanted to do, gently tugged them up Harry’s slender legs, closed the zipper and buttoned up. Now that Harry’s tight little butt was covered again, he rubbed briefly over Harry’s extended middle and finally slipped out of the room, firmly closing the door behind him.


	38. Reassurance

Harry sighed, absently scuffling his feet over the cupboard until he had found a comfortable position and then rested his hands over his stomach, drawing slow patterns with his fingertips, wondering if it would feel weird talking to his unborn child or what he could say that wasn’t completely sappy but would still establish a relationship to his child. When he couldn’t think of anything, he decided to postpone any possible conversations and instead conjured up the ultrasonic screen.

The black and white hologram showed his baby: the large head that was almost as big as the rest of his body, the tiny arms and legs, the even tinier fingers, the protective bubble around him and the soft fluttering of his heart beat. Strong, regular, healthy. Even Harry’s own numbers were green, soft green, given, but not yellow and definitely not red. They were fine.

He observed his little boy for a while longer, humming a soft melody under his breath until he became aware of what he was doing and broke off abruptly just to start again a few minutes later. It was relaxing, and he didn’t feel much inclination to move, but when almost a quarter hour had passed and Fenrir still hadn’t returned, he rolled from the cupboard, landing in a crouch next to it. He swished his wand to clean the cloak and send it back to join the others. After he had made sure that his clothes weren’t too crumpled and that his shirt was decently tugged into his trousers, he made his way to the door, slipping out into the corridor.

He half expected to see Fenrir coming towards him, but the corridor was empty and with a sigh, he slowly trudged back towards the Atrium. Just when he was about to come within sight of the festivities, a large calloused hand once more snapped over his mouth and a muscular arm wrapped around his waist, pulling him back into another side room. He managed to twist a little and ram his elbow back into his captor’s stomach, feeling annoyed and panicked. A soft grumble greeted his ears, and the hand slipped from his mouth, allowing him to breathe more freely.

“Fen, dammit, I fucking meant it, don’t do that!” Harry hissed, trying to twist around.

“I’m afraid you’re mistaking me, Mr. Potter.” Harry froze then renewed his struggles, but the other man did not let up. “Shh, Mr. Potter, I’m not here to hurt you. I only want to talk.”

“Then let me go of me and I’ll gladly have a conversation with you, Sharpfang,” Harry snapped, trying to pry the strong fingers away from his waist one by one.

“I think I should keep a hold of you, Mr. Potter, to make sure that you listen me out,” Marrock replied but relaxed his hold a little more, leaning closer to Harry’s ear. “Please, believe me I don’t intend to hurt you, nor your child.”

“Stay away from my fucking neck,” Harry demanded, surprised when the werewolf drew back immediately. “What the hell do you want?”

“I want you to come with me, to my pack,” Marrock answered without hesitation. “I can offer you protection, a home, a family, respect, love, anything you want.”

Harry blinked, giving up his struggles in surprise and tried to crane his neck to see the werewolf’s eyes. Marrock allowed him to turn in his hold, meeting his incredulous gaze with the utmost calm.

“What?” Harry demanded. “Did you not notice that I’m here with **Fenrir**? I don’t fucking need a new family or a home and I can damn well take care of myself!”

It might not have been the best of moves to crash his head against Marrock’s chin, especially as Harry most likely did more harm to himself than to Marrock.

“But I can offer you more, offer you everything,” Marrock murmured, very carefully smoothing his thumb over Harry’s forehead. “We’ll respect you, cherish you, take care of you, love you and your child. I’ll love your child as I’ll love my own.”

“Your child?” Harry asked in disbelief. “So let me get this straight, you want to have me as your breeding mare? Well, thank you for the offer, but go fuck yourself.”

“Mr. Potter, it’s not my intention to upset you,” Marrock murmured. “Fenrir doesn’t appreciate you - “

“But I appreciate him!” Harry snapped. “Just because you think that Fen doesn’t deserve me, it doesn’t mean that you do. You can’t simply drag me away and plan out a new life for me with your pack because you assume you’d be a better father than Fenrir. It’s still my life and my decision.”

“That’s why I’m asking you.”

“You call this asking?” Harry asked incredulously. “Well, then thanks, but no thanks. Would you now kindly release me?”

“... and why I’ll try to convince you until you agree to come with me of your own free will,” Marrock continued. “Or if that should fail, I will take you with me now and convince you later.” He carefully skimmed his knuckles over Harry’s cheek. “I truly do not mean you harm, though I understand that you might find this hard to believe.”

“Look... that’s kind of flattering” Harry was attempting to keep his voice even and unhurried. “But good intentions or not, I still must insist on the point that I’m not merely a way for you to get a child and that I’m absolutely happy where I am, with Fenrir.”

“You don’t - ”

“No, you don’t understand!” Harry interrupted him. “This came as a surprise to you, fine. But if a man discovers that his wife is infertile, he doesn’t just go about getting a new one and you can’t just kidnap me because I’m pregnant with a werewolf’s child and then force me to conceive your children as well. It doesn’t work like that.

“You want a family, I certainly get that and I also get that it’s a big deal to you that I survived so far, but I’m out of the game, off the market, taken, spoken for, whatever you’d like to call it. And if anything your fight with Fenrir should have shown you that.”

“That fight wasn’t about you.” Marrock was so damn calm and **reasonable** that Harry had to remind himself of the painfully learned lesson that resorting to physical violence against werewolves almost always ended with bruises on Harry’s body and his ego. “Voldemort shouldn’t have introduced me as Alpha. It was nothing personal.”

“Oh, but you can bet that Fenrir will take this here personal,” Harry pressed out. “He’ll - ”

“Mr. Potter, please let that be my worry,” Marrock interrupted him firmly. “You’re well worth the risk.”

Harry bit his lip. It seemed unwise to snort or roll his eyes, and Marrock was obviously less than impressed by threats or questions of morality.

“You can adopt.” Harry made sure that he didn’t sound as helpless and desperate as he felt. If Marrock could be reasonable while defending his twisted logic so could Harry.

“Who would give a werewolf a child?” Marrock asked bitterly.

“Muggles don’t know you’re a werewolf,” Harry protested. “And Voldemort is not as prejudiced as the old Ministry. At least he’s not prejudiced against werewolves.”

“Muggles do not give their children to men who cannot account for a job, a home, impressive financial resources or a partner providing all three of these aspects,” the werewolf replied. “And yes, of course I have tried to get a stable job, buy a house and put aside some money, but that again was prevented by the Ministry. Voldemort might be willing to change some things, but it would be foolish to think that werewolves are his first priority.”

“I won’t deny that it’s difficult for you, Mr. Sharpfang, but this still isn’t a solution,” Harry argued. “Maybe you should just focus on finding the right partner for now, maybe even a single parent who would love some help with the upbringing of their child?”

“Do you know how often I heard something along the lines of ‘I really like you, but I just can’t risk endangering my child’?” Marrock asked rhetorically. “They never give me the chance to show them my good qualities.”

“But I’m sure you’ll find a partner who will see past your lycanthropy and once you’ve got to know each other better you can suggest artificial insemination.”

A shadow flickered over Marrock’s brown eyes, making them seem even darker and for a second his hands tightened on Harry’s waist. When Harry began struggling again, he loosened his hands immediately with a sheepish little half-smile.

“I apologise,” his voice was pitched low and soothing as if he considered Harry a spooked animal that he needed to calm down. “I appreciate your ideas, but you can believe me that I’ve tried everything already.”

“Oh, yeah?” Harry taunted, not because he didn’t believe Marrock but because he felt helpless and the only thing he could think of anymore was to keep the werewolf talking long enough for Fenrir to come and help him.

“Yes, Mr. Potter.” Marrock hardly reacted to Harry’s tone of voice, his voice remaining even and his eyes calm, though Harry was beginning to see the emptiness behind the one wish to have Harry and have a child. “And now I’m trying this, not to hurt you or to use you, but because I know that I can be a good father and I will strive to be a good partner for you.”

“By raping me,” Harry snapped, quite surprised when his own body reacted with a shiver to his words. He wasn’t scared, dammit!

“You will have all the time and the right to refuse me as often as you please,” Marrock corrected. “I will not force you.”

“And you think that I find your words very believable when you have every intention to force me to come with you?” Harry hissed, glaring at the werewolf. “And you also suppose I have not noticed this, do you?” He moved his hand down to hover over the werewolf’s crotch. “I’ve met enough perverts to recognise one when he’s standing right in front of me... and, I’ve learned to deal with them!”

With an uttered curse, icy fire shot from his hand and scorched the werewolf’s most sensitive area. Marrock howled in pain, instinctively releasing Harry to clasp his hands protectively over his abused groin, and Harry took the opportunity and ran as fast as his feet and his swollen stomach would allow him. He didn’t dare look over his shoulder to see if Marrock was following him. But he didn’t have to. He had barely reached the door, barely pressed down the handle and caught a glimpse of the corridor behind it when strong arms pulled him back, not harshly but insistently, unrelentingly.

“I guess, I should have expected this,” Marrock murmured. “And I see you won’t be convinced - ”

“Damn right, I won’t.” Harry struggled, twisted, turned, even bit Marrock until he could taste blood on his tongue.

“Not today, at least,” Marrock spoke over Harry’s protest, gathering the small human a little tighter against his strong body. “I will take you with me now so that we can talk more.”

“And how would you do that?” Harry mocked. “You can’t possibly think that you will manage to drag me through an Atrium full of wizards and witches without them noticing anything. You might as well give up now.”

“I’m afraid I will have to disappoint you again,” Marrock murmured. “Voldemort was kind enough to provide all guests not from London with Portkeys to and **from** the Ministry.”

Harry’s muscles cramped and his heart plummeted to somewhere outside of his body, leaving behind a gaping hole of overwhelming panic. “No, you can’t. Marrock, please, please, no, you’ll kill my child. Please, no, I’ll do anything, anything at all, just please... Don’t, don’t use that Portkey, I can’t... please.”

“Mr. Potter,” Marrock looked in consternation down at the trembling young man, hardly noticing the fingernails that dug desperately into his arm. “You’re telling the truth?”

“Yes!” Harry hardly noticed the tears running down his face. “If I use a Portkey my child could be killed. Please, please, I’m not lying, I’m not. I swear on my magic, on my parents’ graves, please. Please...”

“I believe you, Mr. Potter,” Marrock grumbled, rubbing one hand up and down Harry’s arm; the younger man slumped in relief and breathed a quiet “thank you”. “And I will make sure that you see a healer immediately after we arrive - ”

“What?!” Harry’s shout came out more like a whisper. “No! I beg you! You can’t risk my child like that. I’ll give you anything you want. I’ll leave Fenrir and come to your pack, but don’t kill my child. Please...”

“I’m afraid I cannot trust you to keep your word or that Fenrir would allow you to keep your word,” Marrock said. “I truly am sorry.”

With one arm still holding Harry secure against his chest, he reached into his pocket for his Portkey. Harry felt all hope draining from him to be replaced by something darker and deadlier: desperation. It cruelly twisted his insides until he could no longer breathe, until black spots danced in front of his vision from the fierce pain that wrecked his body, until magic was pumping through his veins. Powerful. Scorching. Uncontrolled.

It threw the werewolf off of him, hurled him against the wall. It blasted the door out of its hinges and it gave Harry the strength to run, leading the young man blinded by tears in the right direction, in the direction of safety. Into the Atrium and right into Fenrir’s arms.

“Little one?” Fenrir questioned, trying to contain the trembling little human in his arms. “What is wrong?”

“Sharpfang... he... Portkey... my baby... kidnap us...” Harry sobbed, clutching to Fenrir’s shirt when the werewolf let out a deafening roar; but he was helplessly pushed aside and into someone else’s arms as Fenrir catapulted himself forward and at Marrock, who had peaked around the door.

“Harry? Harry, can you hear me?” Draco whispered in his ear, carefully holding the younger wizard up. “Are you hurt?”

“My baby...” Harry sobbed, mindless of how pathetic he sounded.

“Rudolphus,” the sibilant command was spoken close to Harry’s ear and long-fingered hand briefly closed on his shoulder. “Make sure that Harry and his child are all right. Do not leave this room.”

Fenrir’s hands broke Marrock’s bones in mindless rage, his claws ripping the flesh from bones and his teeth tearing veins and muscles. Normally, he would have been offended when Voldemort joined in with his own curses and hexes, but with Harry obviously hurt and distressed, he only cared that Marrock paid for what he had done to his little wizard.

He spared a glance at the healer, who was checking over his small lover and did his best to calm him, and he also had a fleeting moment of gratitude for Malfoy, who was rubbing Harry’s back and whispering in his ear that everything would be alright. Then, he turned back to mauling Marrock with Voldemort’s assistance.

“Fen!” It was the cry of a wounded animal that made him drop Marrock in the midst of an attack and swivel around to gather Harry in his arms, crooning in his ear and allowing his hands to wander soothingly over Harry’s baby bump. “Fen, I need you!”

“I’m here, my little wolf,” he murmured, surprised when Harry latched onto him with desperate force, wildly shaking his head while large crystal tears rolled over his cheeks, mixing with the blood on Fenrir’s hands.

“No, you don’t understand. I don’t want you to beat him to death and it doesn’t help me any if you take your revenge,” Harry whispered urgently. “I need **you**. I need you to hold me and reassure me that no one will take me away from you, that you won’t let anyone hurt my baby or touch me like that. Fen?”

“Oh, my little moonlight.” Fenrir didn’t like the vulnerability in Harry’s eyes, his submissive, defeated stance or how broken his voice sounded. “I love you and you’re my perfect little wolf. I won’t let you or our cub be hurt. You’re safe with me, I promise. I won’t let you out of my sight from now on to make sure that no one will get close enough to lay a finger on you.”

“Promise?”            

“Of course, little wolf,” Fenrir assured him, pressing a long kiss to Harry’s forehead. “What did he do to scare you so, hm?”

“Wanted me... to bear his children. And he would have used a Portkey, he didn’t care about killing my child, Fen.” Harry broke down crying, the rest of his words lost between harsh, wretched sobs.

Fenrir growled, covertly sniffing to make sure that Harry wasn’t bleeding and that Marrock hadn’t dared to defile his mate. That he found nothing did not help to dissipate his anger because Harry was still clearly distressed and scared. He had never wanted to see Harry like this again.

“Don’t,” Harry whispered, and Fenrir tightened his arms around him, thinking that Harry had been speaking to him and didn’t want him to leave. “Don’t kill him, Tom. I know you wouldn’t duck.”

“What reason would I have to leave him alive?” Voldemort hissed, sending a quick stunner at the werewolf even though he was hardly moving anymore to make sure that he wouldn’t be able to escape before he turned fully to Harry. “He is of no use to me and he has dared to hurt my heir. Do not fall back into old habits, Harry.”

“His pack needs him, and I don’t want to have to worry about vengeful werewolves,” Harry whispered. “Something isn’t right with him, Tom.”

“Damn right,” Fenrir grumbled, tugging Harry closer. “There must be something seriously wrong with his head if he thought that he could steal my lover and make him into his sex slave.”

Harry winced, and Fenrir rumbled soothingly in his ear, carding his fingers through the sweaty black hair.

“I suggest you take Harry home where he can recover from this ordeal, Greyback,” Voldemort said resolutely. “Rudolphus, take Sharpfang with you and patch him up. I want someone watching him at all times. We will talk more about this once Harry is feeling better.”

The Death Eater nodded, turning to Fenrir to hand him two small vials. “The blue one is a Calming Draught,” he said so softly that only Fenrir could hear him. “It would be good if Harry took it, but do not force the issue if he doesn’t want to. The clear potion is a version of Dreamless Sleep. Again, do not pressure him into taking it, but give him the possibility.”

Fenrir gave a sharp nod before he pulled Harry up into his arms, making sure that Harry could hide his face against his shoulder. With his precious bundle, he brushed past Malfoy and the witch Harry had talked with earlier, mentally cursing her and Voldemort for having detained him earlier, to get to the portal. Harry was still shivering and he could smell the salty scent of tears the stale one of cold sweat. He kept up his soothing murmurs and brushed fleeting kisses over Harry’s brow all the way back to their pack.

“Would you feel better if your godfathers were near?” Fenrir asked as he gently bedded Harry on their furs, rubbing his thumb over Harry’s cheeks to wipe away his tears.

“Yeah,” Harry whispered shakily with tears streaming out from underneath his closed lids, but held onto Fenrir’s hand with a death grip. “Don’t leave.”

“Hush, little one, no one’s leaving,” Fenrir murmured. “I’ll just give them a holler, shall I? Here, let’s cover your ears.”

He moved his free hand and the hand Harry still was holding onto with both of his over the younger man’s ears, holding them there with soft pressure before he let out a roaring howl to summon his pack. Harry needed all the support they could offer him and though Fenrir was still feeling the urge to hide Harry away and guard him jealously from everyone’s touch but his own, he realised that this wouldn’t help Harry to calm down and feel safe again.

Tristan and Chetan were the first to arrive, shortly followed by Remus and Sirius, Maya and Bryan and finally Sawyer, who had been on guard duty. Lin only cautiously peeked into their hut before hovering uncertainly at the door.

“What happened?” Sirius demanded in that tone that made Fenrir’s hackles rise with its concern and accusation.

Fenrir growled softly, but allowed both Sirius and Remus to slip past him and to wrap themselves around their crying godson. They petted his hair and gradually soothed away his tears while Fenrir told his pack what had happened in a soft voice, hoping foolishly that Harry wouldn’t have to hear.

There was, however, no chance that Harry didn’t hear the reactions of his pack and the various furious howls and snarls, the angry curses, the cracking of knuckles and the dull tearing when Sawyer sank his elongated claws into the door frame. Harry sobbed and clutched desperately to Sirius’ sweater and Fenrir’s hand.

“Double the guards,” Fenrir gave his orders. “Lin, Sawyer patrol around the huts, one of you counter-clockwise and the other clockwise. Meet every ten minutes and should anything seem strange or not quite right, raise the alarm immediately. I don’t want even a leaf in my territory that doesn’t belong there.”

“Yes, Alpha.” Sawyer nodded sharply, his voice still more like a growl than usual. But then instead of leaving after Lin, who had disappeared as soon as Fenrir had finished giving his orders, he crouched down behind Sirius and leaned over his shoulder to look at Harry.

“No one will get past me, Harry. We’ll all make sure that you’re safe.” He reached out a hand to tousle Harry’s wild hair before he pushed himself up.

Fenrir affectionately butted his nose against Sawyer’s temple and nipped his neck in an admonishment to stay safe and then released the younger werewolf.

“Alpha?” Chetan sounded like the young boy that had been scared of the dark after a nightmare. “What can we do?”

“Just be there for him,” Fenrir murmured, offering his hand to the younger werewolf and tugging him closer. “Remus, Sirius, one of you clean us up. Maya, make some tea or cocoa. Bryan, get under the fur, now, I don’t want you falling ill again. And Tristan, get some more furs and then stand guard in front of this hut. We’re sleeping here tonight.”

Their immediate obedience calmed Fenrir slightly and allowed him to shake of the paranoia, anger and blind protectiveness he had been feeling until then. Remus reached for Sirius’ wand - apparently he had left his own in his hut - and murmured a quick Cleaning Charm over Fenrir and Harry to get rid of all the blood and other substances that rightfully belonged inside a human body. He also, with a quick look for permission to Fenrir, changed Harry into a pair of pyjamas he hardly ever wore.

Fenrir grumbled in satisfaction and fitted Chetan under his arm before pulling Harry close to his chest, bringing Remus and Sirius with him. Bryan snuggled up to his back, his arms closing around his middle and his head resting comfortably between Fenrir’s shoulder blades.

Harry was still crying, in absolute silence now, but his trembles had subsided, and Fenrir was willing to see that as progress. When Tristan and Maya returned, he shifted them all so that they were in sitting positions and could drink the cocoa Maya had made.

The green-eyed man’s hands shook too much to hold a cup and Fenrir had to reach out quickly lest Harry spill the hot liquid all over himself. An angry half-sob erupted from Harry’s throat, and he hit his fists hard against the floor.

“Easy there, moonlight,” Fenrir grumbled, catching Harry’s hands in one of his own to prevent any further attempts of self-harm. “It’s okay, hush, look, it’s okay. Our baby is fine and you’ll get better as well. No harm will come to you while you’re with me, sweet wizard.”

Harry screamed in pain, curling his fingers around Fenrir’s, and started to rock himself, wincing from time to time when a memory sliced through his mind like a poisoned knife. Fenrir’s soothing growls had no effect on the distraught young man and when the Alpha tried to make Harry take the Calming Draught, the black-haired wizard panicked completely, wild magic fluctuating around him that shattered the fragile vial and almost knocked Fenrir back over. The silver-haired man refrained from suggesting the Dreamless Sleep Potion to Harry and just crooned into Harry’s ear and held him and rubbed his arms and stomach while Harry cried himself into exhaustion.

Finally, Fenrir was able to tuck Harry safely under the furs before he bedded the head of pitch black hair in his lap, leaning his back against the wall of the hut. “Let’s all try to get some sleep,” he grumbled, brushing his knuckles softly over Chetan’s cheek when he noticed how shaken the younger werewolf was. “It’ll be alright, cub. No one will get away with hurting one of my pack.”

“It’s just... Harry, he knows that we wouldn’t use him like that, doesn’t he?” Chetan whispered, looking from Fenrir down at the sleeping man. “He knows that we care about him because of who he is and not because he’s carrying your child, right?”

“I’m sure he knows,” Fenrir replied, though he doubted the truth of that statement. “But if he doesn’t yet, we’ll tell him and make him understand as soon as he wakes up. Okay, cub?”

“Yeah.” Chetan nodded, still looking a bit unsure, but gratefully leaned into the hand that carefully lowered him to rest next to Harry with his head lying on Fenrir’s legs.

With Chetan and Harry both settled safely, Fenrir pulled Bryan a little closer, rubbing the older werewolf’s neck soothingly and watched as he pulled Maya close to his chest, burying his nose in her soft white hair. When they were comfortable as well, he turned to the newest additions of his pack, finding that Sirius was staring wearily at him.

The Animagus lowered his eyes immediately in submission, but then glanced up shyly before leaning closer to his godson and pressing a tender kiss to his scarred forehead. “Sleep well, little prongslet, Uncle Moony and Uncle Padfoot are here to watch over you.”

Sirius startled a little when a heavy hand landed on his neck and tightened in a gentle squeeze, not punishing or even just in warning but a simple but effective reassurance.

“Will you be alright with sleeping here, cub?” Fenrir asked, thinking that maybe Sirius wouldn’t like to be crowded after what had happened to him in Azkaban.

A beaming smile spread over the black-haired man’s face, wiping away years of torment and solitude and leaving in its place a handsome middle-aged man who loved his friends and enjoyed his life without a second thought. “As long as Moony and Harry are here, I’ll be fine. Thank you, Alpha.”

“Good,” Fenrir answered, squeezing one last time before he withdrew his hand to allow Sirius and Remus to lie down, the werewolf spooning around his mate, who embraced Harry from behind. “Sleep.”

And they did, for close to an hour at least until Harry woke with a blood-curling scream, trashing wildly and waking them all. Once again, they murmured soothing words into his ear and rubbed his arms and back, listening to the sobbed out descriptions of how helpless and used and degraded Harry had felt, of how angry and hurt he was for being treated like this and how much the thought of losing his baby or being dragged away still scared him.

Eventually he drifted off into restless sleep again, and Fenrir had to take several deep breaths at the sight of his small lover clutching desperately to his hand.


	39. Choices

“Shh, it’s me,” Fenrir grumbled, brushing a kiss over the knuckles of Harry’s hand as he felt the younger man slowly waking. “Don’t panic.”

Harry squeezed his eyes shut before slowly blinking them open, using the werewolf’s hand to pull himself into a sitting position. “You mean I might as well try a new approach?” Harry’s voice was hoarse, but Fenrir was glad to hear the note of sarcasm he was so familiar with; Harry had built up his defences again.

“Are you feeling better, beautiful little thing?” Fenrir still asked, carefully embracing the younger man and holding him against his body. “You seemed to sleep better in my arms so if you want to rest some more, go ahead.”

“I bet that has you feeling quite smug,” Harry muttered. “That finally I need you.”

“Oh, I have no such illusions, my little proud one,” Fenrir replied, with a hint of self-irony in his tone. “I’m afraid I’m utterly replaceable as you seemed just as content in Remus’ and Sirius’ embrace.”

“Don’t, wolfie,” Harry admonished him, snuggling briefly into his chest before straightening up again. “Where is everyone, anyway?”

Fenrir briefly considered pulling Harry back against him, but thought better of it. Harry wouldn’t appreciate being manhandled or being shown the werewolf’s superior strength. Instead he settled for a careful kiss to Harry’s cheek, brushing his lips over the milky skin in a soft caress. No force, no pressure.

“Tristan, Sawyer and Lin went to catch up on their sleep with the rising of the sun, which was a little over three hours ago,” he offered. “Maya is preparing breakfast and the rest went to take a bath. And we’re here.”

“I had noticed,” Harry quipped. “And as much as I would like to exploit this unexpected bout of privacy, I’m also hungry and after that I really need to get some new clothes.”

“That’s fine, moonlight,” Fenrir murmured. “We’ll find some more privacy... when you’re ready.”

“It’s only because I can’t zip up any of my pants anymore,” Harry defended.

“Of course, little one, but even if there was another reason, it would be okay,” Fenrir replied tenderly, tracing the younger man’s jaw line with his index finger. “Breakfast in bed or do you want to get up?”

In response, Harry grinned before jumping up. But his grin faltered as he swayed dangerously, his face deathly pale and his eyes unfocused.

“Harry!” Fenrir jumped up as well, placing his hands on Harry’s hips for stabilisations.

“’M fine, was just dizzy there for a moment,” Harry mumbled, shaking his head to get rid of the fuzzy feeling and the black that clouded his vision.

“Are you sure?” Fenrir asked suspiciously, only reluctantly drawing his hands back when Harry started to bat at them. “You don’t look too good.”

Harry glared at him. “You try looking good with a baby the size of a water melon in your belly!”

“I didn’t mean it like that. You’re always beautiful, but you’re kind of - Harry!” The younger man had taken a few steps away from Fenrir, in the direction of the open door, when another dizzy spell unhinged the world around him, tilting it upside down and leaving him, for a moment at least, without solid ground under his feet, until he tilted forward and tumbled over the one step that led from the hut, falling.

Fenrir felt the zip of protective magic tingle across his skin when he closed his arms around Harry, millimetres before the wizard would have hit the earth, but he paid no attention to it. Instead, he carefully rightened Harry again, making sure to keep a restraining arm around the extended waist so that the black-haired man wouldn’t get any ideas about venturing off again.

“Sweet one? Open your eyes... please?” Fenrir peered in concern down at his lover.

Harry’s eyes fluttered open, but then he squeezed them shut almost immediately again. “I’d do that, if you could kindly stop the world from spinning.”

“Maya!” Fenrir shouted, his worry doubling when Harry gave a soft whimper. “Maya!”

He scooped Harry up, cradling the small man to his chest even as he carefully put him down on their furs. His second shout must have also alerted the rest of his pack because they all arrived within a few short seconds that still seemed like an eternity to Fenrir.

“Maya, I need you and Sirius to watch Harry while Remus and I go to get that Healer.” Fenrir smoothed his hand through Harry’s hair and pressed a hasty kiss to his forehead before he straightened up. “Remus, let’s go.”

“Alpha... Wouldn’t it be faster to bring Harry to the healer instead?” Sawyer offered carefully. “Or at least let me go with you. I’m a faster runner than Remus.”

“Sharpfang is still in the castle and I won’t have Harry anywhere near him. And I don’t plan to run; Remus will apparate us,” Fenrir explained impatiently, caressing Harry’s wrist.

Harry groaned, shifting slightly as his eyes fluttered open. “Don’t bother. I’m fine.”

“Are you still feeling dizzy?” Fenrir demanded, studying Harry closely while he waited for an answer: Pearly white teeth worrying the soft, full lips, the pert little nose scrunching in thought and the large green eyes shifting ever so slightly.

“Maybe a little,” Harry finally admitted. “But - “

“Then shut up, little wizard,” Fenrir said forcefully. “I’ve had about enough of your carelessness. Come, Remus. The rest of you watch that stubborn little thing.”

Remus followed Fenrir out of the door, doing his best to keep up with Fenrir’s fast strides.

“Alpha!” Sirius hastened after them. “Let me come with you instead of Remus. He’s much better with Healing Charms if Harry should get worse.”

“No, cub.” Fenrir growled softly, turning and reaching a hand out before the Animagus could run into his chest and tilted the younger man’s chin up. “I’m busy enough worrying about Harry. I don’t want to show Sharpfang that there’s another Animagus in my pack, who he might be able to force to bear his children. You stay here where it’s safe, cub. Remus.”

Remus smiled briefly at his partner, who had become unnaturally pale. “I know you’ll take good care of Harry, Paddy.”

He hurried after Fenrir before Sirius could formulate a reply and stepped with his Alpha through the portal. Fenrir grasped his arm tightly and gave him a sharp nod to show him that he was ready though he did not look forward to the awkward feeling of being apparated. He closed his eyes so that the sight of the world around them dissolving into colours and light would not turn his stomach.

Rudolphus looked up from sorting through his potions’ cabinet, turning to face them. “Have you come to see Mr. Sharpfang? There is something - ”

“Harry needs you. Come with us,” Fenrir ordered with a deep growl, taking a step towards the Healer with the intent to use physical arguments if required.

“What is the problem?” Rudolphus asked, quickly grasping his healer’s bag and looking expectantly at the two werewolves. “Is he conscious?”

“He was when we left,” Remus answered while Fenrir only answered with an impatient growl.

“I need to know what is wrong so that I can pack the right medication,” Rudolphus explained to Fenrir before turning back to Remus. “Was there bleeding?”

“No, he’s dizzy,” Fenrir grumbled. “And he almost took a tumble down the steps.”

“Did he take either of the two potions I gave you yesterday?” Rudolphus acknowledged Fenrir’s answer with a nod and put several small vials in his bag.

“No, he didn’t want to,” the silver-haired werewolf grumbled. “Remus can return here if you need something else for Harry.”

Rudolphus nodded again. “Shall we apparate to the portal?”

Fenrir grunted, but grasped Remus’ arm, squeezing it until he once again felt the same sensation of being displaced and opened his eyes to the sight of the shimmering portal. He grasped Rudolphus by the broad shoulders and steered him right through the portal, leaving it to Remus to murmur the password in time for them to pass through. He pushed the brown-haired man non-too-gently towards his hut, dreading that he might come back to find Harry in a pool of his own blood, choking on his own breath or already dead.

Harry was fast asleep, still pale and a few drops of sweat gathered on his brow, but breathing regularly if a bit shallowly. Sirius had taken Harry’s head in lap and was carding his fingers through the wild black hair. The rest of his pack was sitting around the young green-eyed Animagus, all of them keeping a watchful eye on Harry.

Rudolphus kneeled down on Harry’s side, smiling briefly at Maya, who had relinquished her place to him, and drew his wand to pass it slowly over Harry’s body, his facial expressions changing with the changing of colours that surrounded Harry’s body. White. Green. Golden. White again. A brief flash of red. Then golden again. White. Nothing.

“Mr. Potter?” Rudolphus gently rested his hand on Harry’s forehead to rouse the young man from his sleep. “How do you feel?”

“Groggy.” Harry moaned. “Didn’t get much sleep, is all. You needn’t have come. The baby is alright.”

“Yes, Mr. Potter,” Rudolphus answered the hidden question. “Your baby is healthy and strong and developing nicely. But with the lack of care you bestowed on your own body, I’m not surprised that you feel unwell. You’re undernourished, have anaemia and are in severe danger of having a miscarriage. Thus, I will put you on bed rest until the risk of you going into premature labour has passed and until you have gained some weight.”

Harry scowled at the healer before turning to glare at Fenrir. “Have you put him up to this, wolfie?”

“Mr. Potter, you do not seem to realise how serious your situation is. If you put any more stress on your body and exhaust your magic as carelessly as you have been prone to, the protective bubble might collapse and in the worst case your body could be too worn out to uphold the magical changes that allowed you to get pregnant in the first place, namely your uterus and placenta,” Rudolphus explained, and a bit more colour drained from Harry’s face. “I do not mean to worry you, Mr. Potter, but I will condone any action on Mr. Greyback’s part that keeps you in bed, eating healthy amounts of food and above all resting and regaining your strength.”

“I don’t want - ”

“I’m aware that this is not something you will enjoy, Mr. Potter,” Rudolphus said sternly. “But it is something that you undoubtedly need and it is my duty as your healer to make sure that this comes to pass.”

“And how - ”

Fenrir growled angrily, putting a heavy hand on Harry’s shoulder and effectively pinning him to the bed before he leaned over the young man, bringing their faces close.

“You idiotic little thing.” He bared his teeth threateningly. “I only allowed you to keep this baby under the condition that you both survive and that won’t happen as long as you’re still more worried about the how than about the why. I’ll tie you down and force-feed you, that’s how.”

“Keep your teeth away from me,” Harry hissed, pulling his feet up before kicking Fenrir in the stomach, trying to push him away.

“Stop being difficult on purpose!” Fenrir retorted, but drew back and closed his lips over his teeth. “You’re pregnant, and I know this isn’t easy for you, but closing your eyes and pretending that nothing is wrong, won’t help, stupid little wolf.” Harry’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and Fenrir sighed, rolling over Harry to draw the slender back to rest against his chest. “I know you’re angry with me, little moonlight, but don’t you think you could use the energy you waste on me for yourself? If you want me to, I’ll do my best to substitute for your anger and beat me up myself.”

“But I could do that much better,” Harry murmured, blinking up at the werewolf.

“Of course, sweet one, but I will have to do without your well-aimed taunts and your overall provoking nature while you rest,” Fenrir murmured and, pressing his mouth to Harry’s ear, he added a whispered, “Please.”

“I don’t like this,” Harry still thought to protest, though mostly pacified and resigned. “I’m not feeling that bad.”

“But not good, either,” Remus argued, kissing Harry’s forehead. “And until you do, you will humour us, cub.”

Harry’s lips jutted out in a pout, and he thumped his head back against Fenrir’s chest, closing his eyes. “Fine, but no tying down or force-feeding.”

“We’ll see, little white wolf,” Fenrir murmured, gently nipping Harry’s earlobe. “For now, I expect you to tell Lestrange exactly what ails you, okay?”

“Fenrir’s feet are cold, Healer,” Harry said seriously, tucking his own feet under Fenrir’s muscled thigh; he grinned impishly at the Alpha. “Scared?”

“Yes, for you. You’re going to turn my hair grey,” Fenrir replied tenderly, brushing an unruly strand of hair out of Harry’s beautiful face.

“Mr. Potter?” Rudolphus prompted, allowing a bit of warming magic to flow through his patient.

Harry sighed. “I feel dizzy, like really dizzy, and all that dizziness is making me sick. And I feel weak.”

“You’re not weak!” Fenrir protested immediately, and the werewolves’ around them nodded emphatically. “It wasn’t your fault that Sharpfang - ”

“I don’t want to talk about that!” Harry interrupted hastily. “And I don’t mean it like that. I meant that I feel weak, physically, like my muscles are made of jelly, unable to support even my own weight.”

“When have you last eaten something?” Rudolphus asked.

“Yesterday, at the inauguration,” Harry mumbled. “But I wanted to eat something now if Fen hadn’t gone overboard with his worry.”

“Very well,” Rudolphus answered before Fenrir and Harry could start another argument. “Then eat something now. Some fruit, and maybe cereals with yoghurt. And I want you to take a Nutrient Potion, too.”

“But they taste awful,” Harry muttered unhappily, his face twisting into a grimace when that earned him growls and glares. “Fine, I see I’m outnumbered.”

Rudolphus handed Remus a small vial, but in a way to allow Harry to see it too. “The potion will make you sleepy, so it should not be such a chore to stay in bed - or to keep you there.”

Harry rolled his eyes before closing them. “You said I should stay in bed, so I will somehow survive that one day.”

“Not one day, Mr. Potter,” Rudolphus corrected him, and Harry’s eyes snapped open. “I will put you on strict bed rest for at least one week. After that we will have another look at your vitals to see if I can answer for allowing you to move a bit more.”

“One week?!” Harry asked incredulously. “But I have to buy new clothes and... and there’s the antenatal class that you said we should go to!”

“This coming Monday, isn’t it?” the healer confirmed. “I will examine you again Sunday, and we will see if you’re up to it. I will also talk to the course instructor to make sure that, if you should go, you won’t be overstrained. If not Mr. Greyback will just have to go alone and tell you what you missed. I’m also certain that Mr. Greyback or one of your godfathers will gladly get you some new clothes.”

Harry huffed unhappily, sending Fenrir a poisonous glare, scratching his nails over the werewolf’s tanned arm. “This is all your fault! Why did you do this to me?!”

“Shh, little one.”

“Don’t you ‘shh’ me! Don’t you fucking ‘shh’ me!” Harry snapped. “It’s not you who has to stay in bed for at least one week. No, you can strut around and feel all important because you finally got your way, and I’m utterly dependent on you! I hate - ” He broke off abruptly, shook his head, closed his eyes and surrendered; Fenrir didn’t want him to.

“You’re not weak, you’re not dependent,” Fenrir declared with fierce gentleness, tapping his finger against Harry’s cheek. “This is your chance to order me around and have me at your beck and call and have all of your wishes granted instantly. Isn’t that something to cheer you up?” He rubbed his nose against Harry’s cheekbone, feathering soft kisses over the even softer skin.

Harry hummed, grinning at the werewolf if still a bit weakly. “I could make you my sex slave.”

Rudolphus cleared his throat. “I’m afraid that your poor health will not allow you to engage in sexual activities, Mr. Potter, and I must advise you against penetrative sex for the time being.”

“Just great,” Harry groused, though he cheered slightly at the fact that Fenrir was as dismayed as he. “You better start wearing an apron, wolfie.”

“An apron?” Fenrir cocked his head in surprise.

“Yeah, if you want to play maid, you better be convincing.” Harry mumbled, smiling sleepily at the werewolf. “And I want a cream cheese sandwich with tomatoes. No parsley.”

“Alright, my little moonlight,” Fenrir agreed readily, kissing Harry’s nose before he got up. “You just rest, okay?”

“It’s not as if I have much of an alternative.” Harry rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry, Fen, I’ll be a good boy, eat my vegetables and sleep, sleep and sleep some more and only get up if I really need to use the loo,” Harry muttered.

Again, Rudolphus cleared his throat, and Harry’s groan sounded almost like a sob. “I’m intending very strict bed rest, Mr. Potter, which means that you won’t move from this bed without assistance unless the hut is on fire. If you need to relieve yourself, use the corresponding spell or let someone carry you to and from the facilities.”

“So, I’m at least allowed to use magic?” Harry caught at a straw.

“Not to an excess of course,” Rudolphus warned gently. “But, yes, you should do magic to prevent an overload - or lethal boredom.”

Harry scowled, turning around with undue difficulty and curled up facing the wall. “That, I think, will be unavoidable.”

“Really?” Chetan grinned a reckless grin, easily pushing himself between the wall and Harry and blew warm breath into the smaller man’s face. “With me here? You really think you’ll have any time to get bored? I’ll read to you.” His eyes sparkled with amusement as Harry scrunched up his nose. “Remus gave me this amusing book about werewolves. Did you know that my incisors are supposed to be as long as that of a sabretooth?”

“Wouldn’t that be kind of impractical?” Harry murmured, putting his head against Chetan’s chest to avoid anymore gushes of warm air into his face.

“That’s what I thought.” Chetan laughed, instead puffing his breath into Harry’s ear. “There are a lot more of those amazing facts. For example, werewolves can easily be fought off with garlic. I always believed that only goes for vampires, but I guess I will have to cut down on Maya’s fantastic garlic bread from now on.”

Harry hissed testily at the annoying rushes of air in his ear, but then had to chuckle at Chetan’s soulful voice. Fenrir growled warningly at the young werewolf, taking a step back towards their nest of furs.

“Fen, remember my sandwich,” Harry said over his shoulder, smiling impishly at the tall werewolf, who relaxed minutely and left the hut. He waited a bit longer before he turned to Rudolphus. “Healer, what about...?”

“I have put Mr. Sharpfang into a healing coma, though it was not strictly necessary,” Rudolphus offered softly. “But I thought it prudent to keep him sedated until the curse he is under has worn off.”

“Mind-control?” Harry asked, receiving a nod from the healer. “But how’s that even possible? Fenrir would probably shake the Imperius off like an annoying bug, it sure doesn’t work very well on Remy.”

“The curse was used in combination with a Disinhibition Potion,” Rudolphus explained though he didn’t look wholly convinced that this conversation was suitable in Harry’s present condition. “It caused him to focus exclusively on his desire to father a child. I would hazard a guess that it was effective because it wasn’t potentially harmful to Mr. Sharpfang and so his body did not see a reason to fight it.”

“You did see him after Fen was through with him, didn’t you?” Harry asked with an arched eyebrow. “I would call that more than potentially harmful.”

Rudolphus inclined his head in agreement. “But the curse did not seek to control Mr. Sharpfang and thus his injuries were no direct consequence of it, but rather the result of going about obtaining a family the wrong way.”

Harry sighed, tired all of a sudden and weary of this conversation. “Tell Voldemort that I want to talk to Sharpfang once I feel up to it, so no killing him. And send an owl to his pack and explain the situation to them.”

“I will convey your message to the Dark Lord and make sure that Mr. Sharpfang’s pack will be informed,” Rudolphus agreed readily. “And I trust you to follow my instructions and your godfathers and friends to remind you, if necessary.”

“We certainly will,” Remus grumbled softly, his amber eyes warm but also with a hint of warning for his stubborn godson, who pointedly ignored his gaze and pushed closer to Chetan.

The blond werewolf chuckled, allowing Harry to bury in his warmth for a little while before he carefully manoeuvred him into Remus’ arms. “You’re Remus’ cub, little one, I don’t think I want to challenge his right to care for you. That, I’ll leave to the Alpha.”

“Good.” Fenrir had returned in time to hear Chetan’s last sentence, balancing a plate with sandwiches in one hand and a bowl with fruit, cereals and yoghurt in the other, both of which he handed to Tristan. “You can whine more afterwards, but first you’ll eat, sweet wolf.”

“I’m not whining!” Harry protested with an evil glare at the silver-haired man. “And if you don’t shut up, I’ll hex you.”

“Now, I’m scared,” Fenrir mocked, sidestepping one of Harry’s sneakers that smoothly sailed past his head, and caught the furious little wizard, who had lunged at him, in his arms. “I thought we had agreed that you were not to move from that bed, little white one? So forgetful.”

Harry froze, clutching to Fenrir’s broad shoulders with a small whimper. “I’m sorry.”

“Let’s get you settled again,” Fenrir murmured soothingly, carefully and slowly steering Harry back to the bed and helping him to sit down. “You shouldn’t have let me provoke you, little - shh, what is it, moonlight, don’t cry. Shh, breathe, it’s alright. Come now, it’s no drama. You know that just that little move didn’t hurt our baby.”

“But it could have!” Harry was crying now. “I don’t think I can do this, Fen. It’s too much and I’m... I don’t like being like this, Fen.”

“I know, my little brave one, I know,” Fenrir crooned, pressing kiss after kiss to Harry’s forehead. “And if I could take your pain and fear for you, I swear I would, but as that is impossible I can only believe in your strength. And I do.”

“I had enough of being strong.” Harry sobbed. “I’m not anymore, Fen, I just can’t.”

“That’s why you’re supposed to rest, little moonlight. Not because of the baby - I have no doubt that you take admirable care of our child - but because **you** are in need of rest,” Fenrir murmured.

“I have to stay in bed for my own good?” Harry asked softly, and Fenrir might have agreed if he hadn’t seen Sirius’ wildly shaking head.

“No, silly little human, I trust you to make the right decision. If you think that this bed rest idea won’t help you, but will only make you feel worse, I’ll gladly help you to find a better solution. But if you want to try it out or think that a bit of rest could benefit you, we’ll do everything in our power to make sure that you get it.”

“My decision?” Harry asked in a suspicious, watery voice.

“You’re the only wizard I trust, moonlight,” Fenrir assured him tenderly. “I don’t give a damn about Lestrange’s opinion. It’s your body and you know it best. Though, I come a close second.” He grinned rakishly, nuzzling Harry’s cheek.

Harry tried to smile, but it turned into a rather painful-looking grimace, and Fenrir tightened his hold on Harry’s slim hips, pulling him closer and grumbling softly.

The green-eyed wizard took a deep breath before blinking up at Fenrir, his eyes large and pleading. “Maybe I should really stay in bed and try to eat more, for a little while? And I guess it wouldn’t be too bad to let you lot take care of me, wolfie.”

“Thank you, little one,” Fenrir grumbled, gently pecking Harry’s lips. “So you want to heed Lestrange’s advice?”

Harry nodded reluctantly. “But I’ll be bored and I’ll blame you.”

“Sounds fair,” Fenrir agreed readily, fitting Harry perfectly against his body. “Do you want to eat your sandwiches or the stuff Lestrange suggested?”

Harry peered suspiciously at the bowl of cereal Tristan was holding out to him, sniffing cautiously. “Since when do we have bananas?”

“Since your friend Dobby made a home for himself in the storage hut,” Remus offered, and Harry’s head snapped up.

“Dobby? But I told him to watch out for David!” Harry exclaimed. “Dobby!”

“Master Harry Potter has called, sir?” The house-elf appeared with a wide-stretching smile on his ugly little face. “Dobby cook something for Master Harry Potter, sir?”

“No, Dobby, I thought you were taking care of David?” Harry tried to keep the sharpness out of his voice, but had the feeling he didn’t quite succeed.

“Dobby doesn’t need to anymore.” Dobby grinned at him. “Young Master Malfoy’s elf is looking out for Master Travers.”

“Who? Is that elf trustworthy?”

“Oh, yes, Master Harry Potter, sir!” Dobby’s head bobbed enthusiastically, and Harry thought that there might have been a blush on his cheeks. “Winky is very, very trustworthy! Master Travers is being well taken care of.”

“Draco took on Winky?” Harry asked, relaxing a little. “As a free house-elf?”

Dobby’s ears dropped a little. “Winky didn’t like freedom all that much, Master Harry Potter. She belongs to Master Malfoy now.”

“Don’t worry, Dobby.” Harry patted the elf’s shoulder. “I think she’ll be happier and I’m glad that she looks out for David. I heard you moved into the storage hut. Do you need anything?”

“Oh no, Master Harry Potter, sir.” Dobby’s smile returned full-force. “Dobby is very happy. Can Dobby get Master Harry Potter something?”

“No, thank you, Dobby. I’ll call if I need anything.” Dobby nodded seriously and popped away.

Harry was distracted by a growl in his ear. “Alright, alright, I’m eating. Don’t make a fuss.”

He reached for one of the sandwiches, leaning comfortably against Fenrir while he slowly nibbled on his sandwich, relishing in the rough fingers that carded through his hair and rubbed circles around his belly button.

“If you don’t have any more questions, I will take my leave now.” Rudolphus got up after handing several more potion’s vials to Remus. “Please, contact me immediately if you experience abdominal pain, bleeding, cramps or a higher frequency of dizzy spells.”

“Sawyer, bring him to the portal,” Fenrir ordered, not trusting the healer any more just because he had made a valid suggestion.

Sawyer got up at once, motioning for the healer to proceed him from the hut. Harry thought to protest, but Fenrir insistently held the sandwich to his lips and stared pointedly at him, and so he only sighed and took another small bite. He tried to tell himself that bed rest really was for the best, and he truly appreciated the fact that Fenrir had made a show of giving him a choice, but not even very deep down, he knew that it had been just that: a show. Fenrir wouldn’t have let him continue on his self-destructive path, and Remus and Sirius would have allowed it even less. He was outnumbered and helpless and the lack of control over his own life and situation gnawed at him with insatiable hunger.

But he had to look out for his baby now, and by all means, if his baby needed rest he would oblige. Not for his own good, no, he had heard that too often from Dumbledore to appreciate the illusion since he knew it was only a kinder way of saying, “For the greater good.”


	40. Distraction

By Sunday, Harry dearly regretted his rash promise to stay in bed. And he felt well and truly deserted. Oh, Fenrir and the rest of them had been attentive, considerate, helpful, entertaining and sweet to the point of being annoying, but they had all left when he was sleeping. He could call out of course and at least one of them would be with him in a matter of seconds, but Harry didn’t want to be whiny and it didn’t seem fair to let out his bad mood on them. They had been nothing but kind and understanding while Harry had whined and groused and complained, had dealt out insults and made irrational demands to distract himself from the monotony of having to stay in bed.

But now he felt bad about his testiness and lack of gratitude and thus he resigned himself to hours of boredom and solitude. He wondered idly if it would be worth the effort to leaf once more through the mail-order catalogue _For the Expecting Witch and Wizard_ Draco had brought him so that he could look for new clothes. It had seemed like a good idea in the beginning, but after a fleeting perusal, he had quickly decided to let Fenrir, his godfathers and Draco go to Diagon Alley for him to buy new clothes that had the strict requirement of no frills, no bows and no cleavage down to his navel. Fenrir had laughed at his fierce demand and Harry had thrown the catalogue at him. That was why the catalogue was lying somewhere near the door, far out of Harry’s reach, though a bit of magic would be able to solve that problem easily. But chances were that seeing pictures of smiling pregnant people, often with proud fathers-to-be cooing at their extended stomachs, and picture-perfect families would only make him feel worse.

Besides now that Voldemort’s influence had guaranteed that the entirety of Diagon Alley would be open for his personal shopping assistants and bag carriers, on a Sunday no less, there’re was little point in trying to find suitable clothes. He could be quite certain that they would come back with heaps of new clothes for him.

For several minutes, he tried to go back to sleep, but after more than one day of bed rest, sleep was eluding him. Would it really be so bad to get up and walk a few steps? Just to catch some fresh air, see something else than these four wooden walls.

He carefully sat up, ready to lay back down immediately at the first twinge of pain, but when nothing happened, he grinned in satisfaction and pulled slightly shaky legs underneath him.

“Harry James Potter, what do you think you’re doing?” Harry flushed in guilt, looking up at his usually calm godfather. “Your butt better not leave the furs.”

“Oops?” Harry offered. “Would you believe me if I said I was only stretching?”

Remus snorted, shaking his head at Harry’s impressive puppy-dog eyes. “Not a chance, cub. And you better lay back down before Fenrir sees you trying to get out of bed.”

With a long-suffering sigh he flopped back down, staring up at his godfather. Remus smiled approvingly, crouching down next to Harry and smoothing a hand through his hair. Harry relaxed, snuggling into the werewolf’s tender embrace.

“You know why I stopped you?” Remus asked, kissing Harry’s forehead. “I worry.”

“I know,” Harry murmured. “I was just so bored!”

Remus chuckled. For a moment he was painfully reminded of James and wondered what his old friend would have to say about the poor job he was doing with taking care of Harry. “I know, cub. How do you feel, other than that?”

“Fi - A bit queasy still and I had a few stomach cramps since waking up,” Harry said softly. “But don’t tell Fenrir or he’ll once again drag Healer Lestrange here for absolutely no good reason.”

“Did I hear my name?” Fenrir pushed into the hut with a happy grin on his face and expertly ducked the teapot that had flown his way. “You should really try to get out of the habit of throwing things at me, sweet little human.”

“Well, maybe you should shrug off the unfortunate habit of ducking so that I can finally derive the satisfaction I seek by throwing things at you,” Harry suggested mockingly, but leaned into the gentle kiss Fenrir breathed over his lips.

“What did I do this time?” Fenrir asked conversationally, stroking a hand down Harry’s back.

“Left me all alone and took your sweet time in getting back, isn’t that enough of a reason?” Harry demanded, nuzzling the werewolf’s large hand and feeling strangely safe with Fenrir’s strength surrounding him.

“I’ll keep you company now,” Fenrir promised, smiling when Harry leaned into his warmth. “And if you’re feeling up to it, we could eat outside today.”

“Yes!” Harry exclaimed eagerly, and Fenrir chuckled, kissing Harry’s smooth cheek.

“Then rest a bit more while I check if dinner is ready,” Fenrir suggested, smiling when Harry groaned. “I know, little one, but I got you something that will hopefully be able to distract you. Sirius?”

The Animagus poked his head into the hut before bounding over to them, dropping a fluffy, soft grey thing in Harry’s lap. Harry carefully gathered the small thing and lifted it up, tracing a finger over the small pink snout and giggling as the little rough tongue darted over his fingertip.

“You got me a kitten?” Harry asked, while gently rubbing the cat’s belly. “I thought you wouldn’t.”

“That was the deal, wasn’t it? Either I give you a fun night or I get you a kitten. You didn’t enjoy going clubbing as much as I had intended, so here’s your kitten,” Fenrir grumbled. “Though, it’s beyond me why you couldn’t settle on a nice puppy that would have grown to be able to protect you. You’re surrounded by canines and you like us well enough, so you’re not a cat person, either.”

“I like a bit of variety.” Harry grinned unrepentantly at the werewolf. “Thank you, wolfie.”

“I’ll check for dinner,” Fenrir muttered but sent a gentle smile at his small lover. “I’ll get you when it’s ready. Remus, Sirius, put the stuff we bought away and then come and help Maya.”

“Why don’t you think of a name for her?” Remus suggested mildly while Sirius directed several shopping bags to levitate into the hut.

“Okay,” Harry agreed readily, smiling at the small kitten, which looked back at him with sleepy turquoise eyes. “What name would you like, hm?”

The kitten blinked and began to lick Harry’s fingers again with a soft rumble, her hindleg twitching in pleasure as Harry caressed her stomach. Harry played with the soft pink paws, feeling small sharp claws and long whiskers tickle and tease his skin as he petted the small cat and thought about a suitable name for his new companion. Meanwhile she had taken a liking to Harry’s thumb, happily worrying it between her teeth with her tail wagging merrily.

“Cub?” Remus interrupted his mental list of names. “Try to rest a bit more and one of us will get you when the food is ready.”

 “Sure,” Harry agreed with little enthusiasm. “I haven’t done that in a while.”

“Do you want me to stay here?” Sirius offered. “I’m sure the Alpha wouldn’t mind, would he, Moony?”

Remus hesitated briefly before he shook his head, rolling his eyes. “Don’t you think I know you just want to skirt kitchen duty?” Sirius’ eyes widened in innocent indignation, but Remus only snorted, expectantly holding the door open for his partner. “Move your butt before I move it for you.”

“Is it only me or did that sound rather promising?” Sirius whispered to Harry, licking his lips that had twisted into a lascivious smile.

Harry groaned. “Since my own sex life has been put on ice, I don’t want to hear about anyone else’s. And I prefer to think of my godfathers as completely asexual.”

Sirius laughed, dropping a kiss to Harry’s forehead. “That’s okay, I’m quite glad about your forced celibacy as well.”

“You would,” Harry grumbled. “Now go help Remus. Maybe if I rest now Fen will let me stay outside longer.”

Sirius smiled encouragingly at him before he skipped over to Remus, pecked his lips and left the hut with the werewolf in tow.

Harry sighed, bedding the small kitten against his side and resigned himself to leave his hand there so as not to disturb the cat’s peaceful slumber. Maybe he would call her Minnie, just for the hell of it.

ö_ö_ö

 _Wuff!_ Harry blinked, rubbing his tired eyes as he was so unkindly jostled from sleep. Trust Sirius to never give him a moment’s peace. Another bark and menacing snarls made him focus on the culprit that was sitting next to him, staring in the direction of the door. He blinked again, unable to believe his own eyes. _Wuff!_

“I think I’m going to have a serious conversation with Fenrir about betting debts,” Harry muttered, gathering Minnie in his arms and stroking her ears soothingly just as the door pushed open and Fenrir came to take him to dinner.

Fenrir deposited him carefully close to the fire, settling behind him and cradling his lover’s small body between his muscular legs while Maya and Lin dished out tomato soup and bread. Harry couldn’t help but notice that his portion was larger even than Fenrir’s.

“Don’t worry, Harry. That’s only the starter,” Maya said, misinterpreting his incredulous look. “There’s also vegetable lasagne and chocolate cake for dessert.”

“That’s reassuring,” Harry muttered sarcastically, and Fenrir carefully nipped his cheek.

“Eat, white wolf.”

Harry obediently began to spoon the soup into his mouth, silently enjoying Fenrir massaging his stomach with one large hand while he ate with the other. Whenever Harry paused too long for his taste, Fenrir would growl softly or tap his fingers against Harry’s middle until the green-eyed man took another bite of bread or dunked his spoon again.

Eventually Harry finished, though it wasn’t long before he held a plate of steaming lasagne in his hands instead while Lin and Maya handed the werewolves and Sirius large pieces of meat. Harry grimaced and tried to ignore the smell that wafted into his nose.

“At least give my kitten something as well,” Harry demanded in annoyance.

“Alright.” Fenrir tore a piece of meat off for Minnie. “I’m glad you like your present so much.”

“Yeah, she’s a very special cat, isn’t she?” Harry asked, gently nudging Minnie towards the meat. “I can see why you chose her. She has some characteristics of a dog, don’t you think?”

“Both mammals, not much else in common,” Fenrir grunted. “You wanted a cat, now you’ve got one.”

“Indeed?” Harry quickly snatched the piece of meat away from Minnie and the cat snarled angrily at him and barked until Harry gave the food back to her. “Your spellwork, Siri?”

The Animagus flushed guiltily, choking on his mouthful of boar and took his chance of not having to answer. Harry rolled his eyes, tapping his fingers rapidly on Fenrir’s thigh even though the werewolf was avoiding his gaze. Finally Harry had had enough and hit down hard.

Fenrir growled, finally meeting Harry’s gaze. “What do you expect me to do now? If you want me to give her back, fine, but those cats smelled infernally, and you’re not the one to suffer from it!”

“That spell better not be harmful for the poor puppy,” Harry said evenly, looking at Sirius.

“Of course not.” Sirius shook his head wildly. “It’s completely safe. We used it on Jamie’s dog once so that he could take him with him to Hogwarts. Though, we also invented a charm to make the dog mew. I could do it now?”

“No, don’t. Just reverse the spell.”

“Uh, well, there is a slight problem with that.” Sirius shifted uncomfortably. “The spell’s permanent though I could probably use it again and - ”

“I think the poor thing has suffered enough,” Harry interrupted him, and Sirius fell silent. “She’s still hungry, Fen.”

“You’re angry now, little one?” Fenrir demanded as he held out some more meat to the puppy-turned-kitten.

“Angry doesn’t really fit,” Harry replied, taking a small bite of his lasagne. “This is really delicious, Maya.”

“Thank you, Harry.” She smiled at him. “If you like it so much, you’ll certainly want to eat it all.”

“I’ll try to.” Harry sighed. “But I want to try the chocolate cake as well and I think you meant it a little too well with me.” He smiled apologetically at the white-haired woman, who smiled back encouragingly.

“I’ll be satisfied if you eat more than half of what’s on your plate,” she compromised before turning to Chetan to chastise him for eating with his mouth open.

Indeed, Harry was able to finish a little more than half of his lasagne before he handed the rest to Sirius, who again gave his meat to Sawyer after both Fenrir and Bryan had declined. Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the fact that even Sirius obeyed the pack’s hierarchy. Minnie was chasing her own tale, spinning in fast circles and growling and yelping belligerently.

“Have you decided what to call her?” Remus asked softly, seemingly wary if Harry would blame him for the fake kitten as well.

“Minnie,” Harry declared with a wicked grin as Sirius burst into laughter. “Yeah, I like it as well.”

“Am I missing something?” Fenrir asked in a grumble.

“It wouldn’t be the first, nor the last time,” Harry retorted without turning around or acknowledging Fenrir’s deep growl or the hand that tightened on his thigh. “Chocolate cake now?”

The dessert was as delicious as the rest of the meal, soft and juicy and with an intense chocolate flavour without being overly sugary. Harry closed his eyes on the first bite to saviour the taste and the feeling of the cake almost melting on his tongue. He wasn’t aware of the small, appreciative moan that escaped him, but Fenrir certainly was.

Fenrir would swear on it that Harry was doing this on purpose to punish him for the kitten incident; showing him what he would be denied for quite some time. He put away his own cake, tucking his legs a little closer to Harry’s and bent his back and moulded himself around the young wizard, burying his nose in the soft black hair and feasting on the sweet, familiar smell instead of the cake.

Harry shifted a little, either to get more comfortable or to get his neck away from Fenrir’s mouth. Fenrir didn’t want to analyse it too thoroughly and was just satisfied that Harry didn’t stiffen or try to pull away.

“You want my cake?” Fenrir asked when Harry had finished his dessert, but the younger man shook his head, causing Fenrir to sigh. “I thought you liked it.”

“I do, doesn’t mean I will eat more than I can stomach and throw up again,” Harry replied simply.

“Fine,” Fenrir grunted, scooping Harry up. “You should sleep.”

“So glad you’re asking me,” Harry mocked. “You forgot Minnie.”

“I’ll get her later,” Fenrir grumbled; he carefully set Harry down inside their hut after he had kicked the door shut with his heel. “If you’re not angry, what would be a more fitting term to describe your feelings?” Fenrir asked, tilting Harry’s head to be able to look into those green eyes.

“Disappointed.” Harry shrugged.

“Disappointed?” Fenrir echoed incredulously. “Just because I got you a puppy instead of a stinky, stupid kitten? What do you got to be disappointed about?”

“Do you want me to be angry?” Harry asked mildly, not trying to break free of Fenrir’s hold.

“I want to know why I’m being given the cold shoulder!” Fenrir demanded sharply. “I know you’re... sensitive right now, but I don’t see why a dog that looks like a kitten would provoke so much... **disappointment** that you can’t even admit that you’re angry. So tell me, make me understand!”

Harry sighed, long and heavy, the kind of sigh that said he really wasn’t in the mood for this conversation. “I’m not angry. I’m disappointed, Fen.”

Fenrir groaned. “Because I didn’t get you a kitten? Well, fine! Never mind that it makes all of us nauseous, never mind that - ”

The slap was unexpected and laced with a warning tingle of magic. “Tell me, wolfie, have I ever given you any foundation to accuse me of selfishness now or is it just that once again you feel like a kicked puppy? I’m not disappointed that my kitten turned out to be a puppy after all. I couldn’t care less and I never expected you to get me a pet in the first place.”

“But... then what was this about?” Fenrir asked, feeling completely out of his depth with Harry’s smooth skin under his thumbs and the long, dark lashes fluttering over almond-shaped eyes.

“I thought you had finally done something for me,” he continued before Fenrir could interrupt him, “That is, something that **I** thought would make me happy and not something **you** thought would be good for me. I thought you had **finally** jumped over that excessively large shadow of yours, but instead you lied to me,” Harry explained. “That’s the reason why I’m disappointed.”

“Oh.” Fenrir’s brow furrowed, and Harry laughed softly.

“Don’t worry, wolfie. I’ll undoubtedly get over it. And even if I had decided to withhold sex, it wouldn’t make much of a difference, would it?”

“I love you, you know?” Fenrir murmured, kissing Harry’s brow. “I thought with Sirius’ trick we’d both have what we wanted. Tell me how I can make it up to you.”

“Take me back outside?” Harry asked hopefully, continuing quickly when Fenrir looked sceptical, “I’m feeling fine; I’ve eaten enough; I’m not dizzy, cold or in pain. I won’t strain myself. I won’t even move if you don’t want me to, but I just need a bit of fresh air. Please?”

Fenrir’s lips twitched. “Alright, little moonlight, I’m convinced. Do you need to wear something warmer?”

“No.” Harry shook his head decisively before biting his lip. “Unless that’s one of your conditions?”

“Stop that,” Fenrir admonished, putting a finger against Harry’s lips. “We’ll take a blanket, just in case. And maybe your book.”

“Don’t you think we’ll have something better to do?” Harry purred in Fenrir’s ear as the werewolf lifted him up with ease.

“I’m sure I would like to do something more exciting with you,” Fenrir growled, sending a shiver down Harry’s back. “But that will have to wait until you’re more up to it, sweet little thing. I don’t want to damage you.”

“That’s so romantic,” Harry taunted, nuzzling Fenrir’s neck.

Fenrir grumbled, taking up a blanket and pulling it over Harry’s back before he left their hut, without any book and with only the precious burden in his arms. The swell of Harry’s stomach pressing against his own front was a comforting reminder of the existence of their child and Harry’s unrelenting, stubborn strength.


	41. Authority

They passed Chetan, who was on guard duty and only grudgingly allowed them to continue on their way into the forest. Fenrir was strangely relieved when he found that Harry’s puppy-dog eyes worked wonders on Chetan’s opinion as well. He also felt undeniably jealous and so he gave Harry’s pert little butt a possessive squeeze and claimed the velvety soft lips with a by all rights too forceful kiss which Harry seemed to enjoy nonetheless.

“I hope there’s more where that came from,” Harry murmured breathlessly, caressing Fenrir’s broad nose with teasing fingers and feathering soft kisses over his stubbled jaw. “And I really look forward to finding out if you had any ulterior motives to bringing me here again.”

Fenrir had brought them to the same flat rock where they had celebrated their reconciliation after Fenrir had - Harry harshly tweaked one of Fenrir’s nipples to garner his attention, cocking his head innocently when the werewolf growled.

“You’re impossible, sweet thing.” Fenrir carefully sat down with Harry in his lap, tucking Harry’s head under his chin. “You said you wanted fresh air, there’s lots of it here. No ulterior motives.”

“You sure?” Harry demanded, his hand gliding lower and lower, swirling teasingly around Fenrir’s belly button until he allowed it to slip into Fenrir’s jeans. “Doesn’t mean that I have no ulterior motives.”

“Harry, you aren’t... We really shouldn’t do this,” Fenrir protested, grasping Harry’s wrist and squeezing tightly in a futile attempt to counteract the pleasure Harry’s touch invoked in him. “Stop.”

Harry groaned. “Come on, Fen. I want to do this. It’s only a handjob -  I’m hardly moving.”

“Be that as it may, Lestrange said that you’re not supposed to engage in any sexual activities and jerking me off would be just that,” Fenrir argued, not releasing Harry’s wrist even when the younger man strained against his hold.

“I thought you trusted me, not him.” Harry glared at him, still trying to free his hand. “Jeez, Fen, don’t you think you’re exaggerating a little? Next you’ll say that I can’t kiss you anymore, that’s a sexual act as well, isn’t it?”

“I’d like to consider it romantic,” Fenrir replied with a quirk of his lips, but Harry scoffed unhappily, and the werewolf sighed. “You’re carrying my child, Harry. If I could I’d probably wrap you in cotton wool.”

“Great, I have something to look forward to, then,” Harry retorted sarcastically. “I think you should take me back. Isn’t it well past my bed time?”

“Little one, I know you’re hurt - ”

“Try pissed!” Harry interrupted, using his other hand to pry Fenrir’s fingers, one by one, from his wrist.

“No, I’ll go with hurt, thanks,” Fenrir replied evenly, capturing Harry’s other hand as well. “And I understand that, but fact is that you need rest and you can’t keep endangering your life, and our cub’s, just because you’re bored or horny or angry.”

Harry’s face twisted into an angry grimace, and his voice shook, “This is not fair.”

“No, it’s not,” Fenrir agreed. “But if it keeps you safe I’m more than willing to play a little dirty. I’m not going to lose you, Harry, I refuse to.”

He recognized the stubborn set of Harry’s yaw, matched only by the shadow of hurt in his eyes. Harry wasn’t going to give in, wasn’t going to admit that he was in the wrong or even concede that Fenrir may just have a point. So he leaned in and kissed him, transferring both of Harry’s hands into one of his so that he could draw the smaller man’s body against his. He put enough force into the kiss to nip Harry’s resistance in the bud, tightened his hold enough to keep the younger man almost immobile; but the kiss was a silent plea, an apology, an attempt to somehow make it all up to Harry. At first, Harry struggled, strained against him, bit his lip and tried to break free from Fenrir’s embrace, but then Fenrir heard a moan that was clearly filled with pleasure rather than protest.

When Harry finally lay pliant, if slightly breathless, in Fenrir’s arms, the werewolf drew back. “Rain check?” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to Harry’s cheek bone.

“I still think you’re exaggerating,” Harry warned, resting his head on Fenrir’s shoulder. “I just wanted to do something for you after you’ve had to suffer my whims and whines for the last few days and even before that. I know I’m not easy, I know that, I just wanted...”

“You don’t have to prove anything and you don’t need to bribe me with sex,” Fenrir replied earnestly, rubbing circles in the palm of Harry’s hand and noticing the small tremble with worry. “I brought you here to spend time with you, just holding you and keeping you comfortable and content. You should rest.”

“That’s not because of fatigue,” Harry mumbled, flexing his fingers. “Just... Would you mind if I did some magic? I haven’t been using all that much today, and it’s causing an overload.”

“Go ahead,” Fenrir grumbled, releasing Harry’s hand but keeping him close.

He watched wearily as Harry drew his wand, swirling it quickly between his fingers. Golden bubbles rose from the tip, shimmering in the light of the waxing moon and swirling around in merry circles. Fenrir relaxed minutely as he saw that Harry directed the bubbles and his magic to stay well away from him.

“You know, it’s like a rush,” Harry murmured, the bubbles spinning faster and faster. “It tingles in my veins and makes my heart pump faster.”

Fenrir grunted. “Why didn’t you use your magic today? You have to take better care of yourself.”

Harry shrugged, joining some of the bubbles into two little men who started dancing a few centimetres over the ground. “Slept most of the day or you were keeping me company.”

“My little wizard, you shouldn’t... So using magic feels good for you?”

“Yeah.” Harry smiled, pecking Fenrir’s lips. “Makes me feel alive, powerful.”

“From what I heard, you are,” the werewolf replied.

“Depends on what’s your standard,” the black-haired man murmured, snuggling into Fenrir’s strong chest.

“You beat all my standards, that’s for sure,” Fenrir declared confidently, nudging Harry’s cheek with his nose.

“Empty flattery again?” Harry taunted. “I thought you just wanted to enjoy the evening. I’m not all that receptive to your compliments if they don’t lead anywhere, you know?”

“You seemed sad,” Fenrir argued, his voice turning into a warning growl as if to scare away Harry’s depressive mood. “All my muscles didn’t help me one bit in Azkaban, but you would have got us out there in the blink of an eye. And I fear I would have gone stir crazy if I was the pregnant one.”

Harry laughed. “Oh, so that’s the reason you don’t want to bottom? You’re afraid? That’s so cute!”

Fenrir growled, very carefully tugging Harry’s head back to expose the pale column of his throat. “Don’t fool yourself, little human, I’m still your Alpha, and you’ll submit to my will.”

“Why?”

“Why what?” Fenrir demanded.

“What was your family like?” Harry asked, making the bubbles disappear and instead turned his attention to a small rock, transfiguring it into a delicate rose.

“You’re my family,” Fenrir declared immediately. “My pack is my family.”

“I know,” Harry appeased him. “But what about your parents? It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about them, but I know so little about my own parents... I guess I’m just fascinated by the whole concept.” He smiled apologetically.

“I guess there’s something to be said about marriages of convenience,” Fenrir answered after a while, continuing when Harry met his eyes with a questioning look. “My parents didn’t marry out of love, but because my father wanted to take over the town’s largest farm and the owner only had one daughter, my mother. They never fell in love with one another but they got along as friends and loved me well enough.”

“How did they react when you were bitten?” Harry asked gently.

“I left home when I was sixteen,” Fenrir replied. “Too much thirst for adventure, I assume, it just didn’t keep me home anymore.”

“Did you never go visit them?” Harry questioned, placing a kiss over Fenrir’s heart.

“Some years later, yes. It wasn’t such a fun conversation to try to explain to my parents, who had never heard of werewolves, that I was one now, but in the end, they were okay with it. We actually spent some Christmasses with them. They’re dead now, though.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry murmured. “I didn’t mean to bring back painful memories.”

“Shh, long time ago and you have a right to know if there’re any serial killers in my ancestry.” Fenrir grinned broadly, pecking Harry’s nose. “I’m the most dangerous member of my family.”

Harry laughed. “I feel quite safe.”

“Good. Now, tell me what you were asking earlier,” Fenrir demanded.

“Why do you want me and the others to submit to you? What do you gain from it?” Harry peered up at him. “Does it turn you on, or what is it?”

“It certainly turns me on to see you submit.” Fenrir leered, gently suckling on Harry’s earlobe.

“Why?” Harry insisted, moaning only very softly before he managed to pull away.

Fenrir sighed, staring up into the night sky and at the colourful shooting stars of Harry’s magic as he thought of an answer that would satisfy his small lover. “When I have someone’s obedience, I can be sure that they won’t hurt one of my pack.”

“I wouldn’t hurt any of them!” Harry exclaimed, his eyes wide and wounded.

“I know that, pretty wolf,” Fenrir assured him. “But when I have your obedience, when I know that you’ll listen to me, I’m also able to protect you because you’ll be where I want and expect you to be and do what I deem safe. It calms me.”

Harry hummed, seemingly accepting Fenrir’s answer even though he wasn’t quite convinced. “What colour was your hair before it turned silver?”

“As black as yours,” Fenrir stated, tugging on a strand of Harry’s hair. “But it turned silver with my first transformation.”

“I like it,” Harry commented with a shy smile, carding his fingers through the thick hair. “It goes well with your teint.”

Fenrir laughed, dropping a kiss on Harry’s scarred forehead. “Enough smalltalk for today. You need to sleep so that you have enough energy for tomorrow.”

“Can’t we sleep here?” Harry asked pleadingly.

“It’s too cold,” Fenrir stated immediately. “And you can’t risk getting sick on top of everything else.”

“Are you feeling cold?” Harry demanded.

“Of course not.”

“Well, I’m not either so that won’t be a problem.”

“In this case, I choose not to trust your word,” Fenrir replied, scooping Harry up again and cradling him safely against his chest. “Lestrange only gave you permission to go to the antenatal class tomorrow under the condition that you would rest today.”

“But I’ve done nothing but all day!” Harry protested angrily.

“Good,” Fenrir commented lightly, dropping a kiss on Harry’s creased forehead. “I see that, sometimes at least, you listen to reason.”

“Don’t be so fucking self-righteous!” Harry snapped, his temper once again sky-rocketing and the feeble control over his emotions slipping through his fingers. Fact was that he knew he was overreacting, he knew that Fenrir had only been teasing him and that sleeping outside wasn’t the best idea in his current condition. He knew all that, but a large part of him was only too happy to attribute his short temper to mood swings and saw no reason at all to spare Fenrir’s nerves because his own nerves were taut as bowstrings. Harry didn’t like that part of himself, he didn’t like what he had become – irritable, unreasonable, selfish, ungrateful – but neither did he like Fenrir to point that out to him. Because that hurt, and Harry wasn’t sure how much hurt his feelings could take without being permanently damaged.  

And so he did the only thing that was still safe, was still easy and almost normal and took his bad mood and his insecurity out on Fenrir. Harry hit one fist against the werewolf’s strong chest, not surprised but still mildly disappointed when the older man didn’t bat an eyelash. “Let me down, you big brute. You’re squeezing out my intestines.”

Fenrir arched a skeptical eyebrow, staring down at where his hands were resting lightly against Harry’s stomach, his lover’s weight supported by the arms that snaked around under his knees and his shoulder blades. In response, Harry arched both his eyebrows expectantly, swinging his feet and tapping them softly against Fenrir’s side. The werewolf sighed, loosening his hold almost imperceptibly considering that he didn’t want to risk dropping Harry.

“Would you rather I got one of your godfathers to levitate you home, my little testy one?” he demanded, making sure to keep the challenge out of his voice.

Harry still glared at him, then closed his eyes with a small, affronted huff that Fenrir took as his cue to continue walking. They soon passed Chetan, who peered curiously over Fenrir’s shoulder.

“Is he sleeping? What did you do to tire him out?” his voice sounded faintly amused, accusing, admiring and worried all at once.

“I’m not sleeping,” Harry grumbled. “Not that it makes any difference.”

“Why are you still out here? Sawyer was supposed to take over guard duty,” Fenrir demanded, tucking Harry’s head under his chin to keep him from moving.

“I know, Alpha, but Sawyer asked me to take over for him because he decided to back up Remus and Sirius.” Chetan’s eyes were alight with amusement.

“Whatever would require the combined strength of those three?” Fenrir asked suspiciously, staring hard at the younger werewolf when it looked like he would not answer.

“Well, you see... Remus has been kind of antsy lately, because of Harry of course and because of everything that healer said about his poor health and Sirius’ own worry isn’t really helping matters. So they kind of thought that maybe Harry would get better faster if they would also stay the night with him. To ward of nightmares and such, and, ah... something like that.” Chetan flushed crimson and ducked his head under Fenrir’s intense glare, whimpering in submission.

Fenrir growled. “And they didn’t think to discuss this with me?”

“I’m sorry, Alpha.” Chetan whimpered, almost curling up under his Alpha’s anger, and tilted his head to the side, offering his vulnerable throat to Fenrir.

“You stay here. I’ll deal with you in the morning,” Fenrir ordered harshly, ignoring Harry’s attempts at appeasement and Chetan’s soft agreement as he turned away and stalked back to his pack.

“Will you at least tell me why this made you so angry if you won’t allow me to talk you out of that mood?” Harry demanded, tugging on Fenrir’s silver hair.

Fenrir’s eyes narrowed, and he growled, but he slowed his steps enough to make it a little more comfortable for Harry, who had been quite jostled by his fast pace.

“Fine, but I’m quite flattered by their concern!” Harry stated with a defiant pout. “You might be used to it that people show interest in you as a person, but I’m not and I think it’s very touching.”

Fenrir made a noise that could have been an amused snort just as well as an unhappy grunt and stepped into their clearing, heading right for his hut, in front of which Remus, Sawyer and Sirius were waiting while trying to make it seem like they weren’t.

Harry gave his hair another sharp tug. “You can scream and shout at them all you want, but you better not hurt them.”

“I’ll put Harry to bed,” Fenrir growled at his pack members as he passed them, sending them all a whithering glare that made them tremble like in an icy wind.

“So you can still talk,” Harry mocked, as he was lowered to their furs and tucked tenderly into a tight cocoon of skins and blankets. “I mean it, Fen, please don’t hurt them for caring for me.”

“That would send the wrong message,” Fenrir admitted, kissing Harry’s forehead lightly. “Leave this to me, little stubborn thing. It’s my authority they were undermining and it’s my pack that I have to keep in order.”

“But it’s still me it concerns,” Harry argued.

“I’m well aware that, how ever much I wish it were different, you do not belong to me alone,” Fenrir retorted, and Harry heard more than a hint of bitterness in his voice.

“Fen...”

“Leave it to me, little wizard,” Fenrir demanded, his tone still hard but no longer belligerent.

“Fen.” Harry grasped the werewolf’s large hand to stop him from leaving and waited until Fenrir reluctantly met his gaze. “I very much appreciate your worrying, but I can’t help but wish that I didn’t give you so much motivation for it.”

“I’ll always worry, little wolf, that’s my job,” Fenrir replied and leaned down to brush a kiss over Harry’s forehead. “Try to sleep.”

Fenrir waited until Harry had closed his eyes and snuggled into the blankets before he spun around and left the hut, barely refraining from banging the door shut. Instead, he took great care to close it softly behind him, feeling their wary looks in his back. Good, they should be wary. He turned around, fixing them all with a cold glare. They hunched their shoulders, ducking their heads and lowered their eyes. Sirius whimpered quietly, which managed to draw Remus’ attention at least long enough for him to squeeze the black-haired man’s hand reassuringly and pull him close to his side before he fixed his own submissive position.

“Sirius.” He motioned the slender Animagus to his side, feeling the tension in the lithe body as he tugged him against his chest and rested his mouth lightly against the younger man’s throat, teeth grazing skin as he talked. “Do I have to assume that you knew exactly what you were doing?”

“Yes, Alpha,” Sirius whispered, his body rigid though without fight.

“You’re wrong, cub,” Fenrir informed him, resting his large hand lightly between Sirius’ shoulder blades. “I’m the Alpha. I don’t have to do anything, and if I choose to put your actions down to ignorance that is what we’ll both agree to. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Alpha,” Sirius said again. “Please, Alpha, I can’t... Remus is the only one...”

“Shh, cub,” Fenrir admonished. “Calm down so that we can finish here. Deep breaths. That’s it. Good puppy. Since we agree that you didn’t know any better, you’ll get off lightly this time. But make no mistake: Should something like this happen again, you won’t find any clemency.”

“Yes, Alpha.” Sirius slumped noticeably when Fenrir’s released him from his hold. “Thank you, Alpha.”

“Go inside and see to it that Harry stays in bed,” Fenrir ordered, intercepting Sirius before he could slink back to Remus and shushing him when he made to protest. “Remember what I just told you, cub. Go.”

Sirius ducked his head and slipped past Fenrir into the hut with only the most furtive of looks at his lover, who did not dare to raise his head since Fenrir was towering over him now, standing uncomfortably close.

“Look at me, cub,” Fenrir demanded roughly, taking the younger man’s chin in his hand and tilting it up. “I’m not happy with you demanding so much of Harry’s attention, but I tolerate it because Harry is a very special young man. I will not, however, tolerate you going behind my back as if you feared that I would make a decision that wouldn’t be in yours and Harry’s best interest. Understand that, Remus?”

“Yes, Alpha,” Remus replied, tentatively pressing a bit closer to the older werewolf. “I just want Harry to be safe and for him to follow Healer Lestrange’s advice.”

Fenrir’s eyes narrowed. “And you think that I’m not man enough to make sure that he does?” Remus muttered something under his breath, something too soft even for a werewolf’s fine ears. “What was that?!”

“I... nothing, Alpha,” Remus said quickly, but Fenrir squeezed his chin painfully, making clear that he wouldn’t accept this answer. “I said that maybe you’re too much of a man. I fear that if Harry offers, which I’m sure he will sooner rather than later, you won’t have the will to turn him down.”

“You want to chaperone us to make sure that Harry doesn’t seduce me?” Fenrir asked incredulously. “I find it hard to believe that you want to protect me from your precious godson.”

“I want to protect Harry from himself, Alpha,” Remus replied with a small scowl on his face. “And I take that very seriously.”

“You should realise, though, that I take my pack seriously,” Fenrir growled softly.

“I do, Alpha,” Remus murmured quietly. “I’ll come to you from now on. I know I can trust you with my family.”

Fenrir grunted, nipping Remus’ throat before he released him. “Go and calm those two hysterical cubs.”

“Sirius is just... easily unsettled after all he went through in Azkaban,” Remus excused. “I’m sure he knows you wouldn’t, but there’s always a difference between knowing and truly believing it.”

“I see you’re not making any excuses for Harry,” Fenrir commented.

“I didn’t think it was necessary,” Remus replied. “He’s pregnant.”

Fenrir grunted, pushing Remus into the direction of his hut. “Somehow, I have the feeling that he would be even more willful, if he wasn’t.”

Remus chuckled a little uncertainly, disappearing in the hut as well and leaving Fenrir and Sawyer alone. If Sawyer had expected, which he hadn’t, to be let off easy as well, he would have been disappointed and shocked when Fenrir lunged at him and cut off his air supply with a iron-like grasp around his throat.

“Do you or do you not want to challenge me as the Alpha?” Fenrir demanded angrily, but Sawyer’s body language, the carefully relaxed muscles, the averted eyes, the bared throat, the hands resting flatly against the ground, were answer enough. “Then don’t ever fucking dare to assume again that your concern for Harry, or anyone else, is more valuable than mine or I will string you up on the next best tree and leave you hanging until you have learned your lesson!”

Sawyer whimpered, a strange choking noise almost a cough since Fenrir was still impeeding his ability to breathe. Fenrir released his hold, though he left one heavy hand on Sawyer’s chest meaning for him to stay down, as he pressed his nose against the pulsing vein at Sawyer’s throat.

“You’re the Alpha,” Sawyer whispered, accepting of what ever Fenrir might decide to do now.

“I am,” Fenrir declared, digging his teeth into the soft skin in a gentle nip before he let up on his pack member. “And you’ll never stop being my cub.”

Sawyer whined happily when Fenrir pulled him into his lap, stroking soothingly over his back and brushing off the little pebbles and dried leaves that stuck to his bare back.

“You know better than to do something like this,” Fenrir commented, though his tone was not accusing. “You know that you can trust me, that I would have gladly allowed Remus and Sirius to sleep in my hut if it made Harry happy and soothed them.”

“I know, Alpha,” Sawyer admitted, resting his forehead against Fenrir’s strong shoulder. “But Remus asked me and I wanted him to know that he can rely on me. I wanted Harry to know that as well.”

Fenrir grunted. “He can be remarkably thick at times.”

“I don’t blame Harry for not trusting me,” Sawyer said quickly. “After attacking him like we did, without provocation and teaming up against him... I probably wouldn’t want myself around, but since he doesn’t seem to mind too much, I want to take the chance to show him that I’m not only a ignorant beast with no manners or honour. I want him to feel safe with me. Is that wrong, Alpha?”

“No, but you should have talked to me,” Fenrir replied firmly, and Sawyer lowered his gaze again. “I do not appreciate someone getting in the way between Harry and me.”

Sawyer refrained from bringing up the names of Harry’s godfathers and just nodded meekly. “I apologise, Alpha.”

“However, now that you have informed me of your intentions, you have my permission to try to befriend Harry and show him your good character traits,” Fenrir grumbled, nudging Sawyer’s chin up. “I’m sure he’ll like you, cub. He already does.”

He carded his fingers through Saywer’s reddish black hair before helping him up and pushing him gently towards his hut. “You can stay the night.”

Before the two men had reached the hut though, their steps were halted by a furious scream that reached their fine ears even through the thick wooden walls of the hut. Fearing the worst, Fenrir jerked the door open and hastened into the hut, his eyes narrowed and his teeth bared threateningly. He almost would have killed Harry with a quick snap of his neck when the young man threw himself at him, his angry fingers leaving bloody scratches on Fenrir’s chest.

“You fucking bastard!” The words were barely coherent, interrupted by angry hisses and growling sounds. “You fucking, fucking bastard! How fucking dare you?!”

Fenrir slung his arms loosely around Harry’s still small form, trying to stabilise the wizard and unobtrusively stop him from moving too much. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, angry little thing.”

“I’m talking about this!” Harry exclaimed, throwing a piece of cloth into Fenrir’s face. “What is that supposed to be? Do you want to degrade me? Is that it? Do you think I’m not humiliated enough as it is? Do you have to shove it into my face that I’m not as manly as you?”

“What?” Fenrir demanded stupidly, shaking the piece of cloth out with one hand to inspect it critically. “What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s a nightgown! For women!” Harry shouted, his fists pounding against Fenrir’s chest. “But I have a cock and you’ve seen it often enough to know that!”

“You also have an extended stomach that you have to put somewhere,” Fenrir replied, taking the punch to his chin without as much as wince. “The vendor told us that draw-string pants might be uncomfortable for you and cut into your stomach, but you’ll still need something to cover your butt. It has no frills, flowers and is blue – I don’t see what you’re complaining about.”

“I won’t wear a fucking dress!” Harry screamed angrily, pushing against Fenrir’s chest.

“And how is this different than you wearing one of my shirts?” Fenrir demanded. “Both will reach over your thighs.”

Harry punched him again, with all his might and his eyes alight with blatant fury and a blush on his normally pale cheeks that Fenrir couldn’t help but find enticing. The whisper of beauty that always surrounded Harry, like a promise, had become a full-out roar, deafening in its intensity and impossible to ignore. Fenrir sighed regretfully. Still, this wouldn’t do.

He tightened his arm a little around Harry’s waist, holding him secure, as he decisively brought down his free hand. Harry yelped, his eyes widening almost comically and his mouth opening into a perfect little o. Fenrir had to resist the urge to push a finger into the moist cavern to see if Harry would suck on his fingers or bite down.

“You hit me?” Harry asked incredulously, staring up at him with disbelieving, forest-green eyes.

“No, actually, I smacked you and I’m sure that both of us appreciate the difference,” Fenrir clarified, resting his hand lightly on Harry tight butt; he was slightly disappointed, though not surprised, when Harry’s whole frame tensed at the contact.

“Whatever did you do that for?” Harry demanded angrily.

“You were being hysterical.” Fenrir shrugged indifferently, now smoothing his fingers over Harry’s butt. “If you don’t like it, don’t wear it. Burn it and keep wearing one of my shirts. Hell, don’t wear anything, if you’d like, but then certainly neither your godfathers nor Sawyer are going to sleep in here.” Harry opened his mouth to retort something, but Fenrir stopped him again, leaning down slightly to brush a kiss over Harry’s lips and then whisper into the younger man’s ear. “And whatever else you are, you’re certainly manly for me, my little human. Though, I would never object to seeing your cock again – just to make sure, of course.”

Harry’s tension released in a snort and he put his head against Fenrir’s chest, relaxing into the secure hold. “It still hurt.”

“Much?” Fenrir demanded, peering over Harry’s shoulder down at his butt as if he feared to find it swollen and bleeding.

Harry shrugged, which prompted Fenrir to ask again. “Too much?”

Now, Harry shook his head, smiling appeasingly up at the werewolf. “I can take it, just doesn’t mean I like it. Next time you might try it with a kiss.”

Fenrir grunted. “Considered that, but you’re not a girl, little wizard.”

Harry nodded pensively, snuggling into the older man and twisting his fingers through the loops of Fenrir’s jeans. “I know I shouldn’t have moved so much. I’m sorry. Don’t tell Healer Lestrange, please?”

“Let’s get you changed in... something and then you’ll sleep,” Fenrir ordered. “You three, step outside for a moment.” He motioned vaguely to Sirius and the other two werewolves.

“Yes, Alpha,” they all murmured, but Sawyer took a hesitant step forward. “I was wondering... I got this while you were... earlier. Maybe you’d like it, Harry?” He carefully extended his favourite and only shirt to the younger man, the black material worn soft after all these years and the logo of the Rolling Stones almost washed away.

Harry peered around Fenrir’s broad torso, cocking his head in surprise. “Really?”

“Yeah, sure.” Sawyer nodded hastily, taking a small step closer, still with his arm outstretched. “I don’t really... I mean, I’d like you to have it.”

Harry broke out into a beaming smile, his hand closing around the t-shirt and tugged himself against Sawyer’s chest, giving the surprised werewolf a tight hug. “Thank you. I... Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Sawyer grumbled and meant it, every word with all it’s possible meanings; Harry was welcome to the shirt and he was welcome here.

Harry smiled at him, nodding in understanding. “I’m glad to be here.”

Sawyer grumbled softly, taking a deep sniff of Harry’s scent to memorise it, noting for the first time how completely soaked Harry was in his Alpha’s scent, leaving only a faint trace of vanilla, of apples, of the same wilderness that was a part of all of them.

A warning, still soft growl made him release the younger man back into Fenrir’s waiting arms.

“Get some more blankets,” Fenrir ordered gruffly over his shoulder, gently manoeuvring Harry’s small form towards the furs, and Sawyer took it as the obvious dismissal it was, leaving with a soft “Yes, Alpha.”

“Fen?” The werewolf made a humming noise while he helped Harry out of his sweater. “Would you rather I wasn’t pregnant?”

Fenrir’s movements stilled as he stared down into Harry’s expectant eyes before he scooped down to brush a reassuring kiss over the younger man’s lips. “I would certainly rather live without the constant fear of losing you, my little wolf, but the fact that you’re pregnant, to see you swelling with a new life and to know that you’re carrying my child is an emotion that is indescribable, impossible to put into words. I hate it that I can’t really help you, that I have to trust in your strength even though I would much rather take all the pain and strains for you, but I would never regret this gift that was bestowed on us.”

“It doesn’t feel like such a gift,” Harry muttered, sighing when Fenrir once again took him into his arms, rocking him soothingly.

“Would you rather not be pregnant, beautiful wizard?” Fenrir asked cautiously, running his hands up and down Harry’s back. “Be honest.”

“No, I... I want this child, I want him so much,” Harry glanced appealing up at the werewolf. “But...”

“I know,” Fenrir grumbled, resting his stubbled cheek against Harry’s smooth one. “I know you are.”

Harry took a shuddery breath, nodding minutely. “I’m tired and I want to have sex.”

The werewolf grinned at that whiny declaration, pecking Harry’s nose before he released him. “I don’t doubt you do, but you’ll have to make do with naughty dreams.”

“Don’t I at least get a sexy bedtime story?” Harry asked hopefully, shimmying against the older man’s strong body. “You wouldn’t want to make me feel unattractive, would you?”

“I’ll certainly tell you a bedtime story,” Fenrir growled, tugging harshly on Harry’s already half-unbuttoned jeans. “But your godfathers might actually try to behead me if I did so now and I would so hate to get their blood over our furs so that will have to wait, my tempting little tease.”

Harry pouted, demonstratively turning away as he slipped out of his jeans, not as graceful or as fluidly as he used to, and pulled on a pair of Fenrir’s boxers that fell to his knees and made his legs appear like two poking sticks before he shrugged on Sawyer’s t-shirt.

“Fine, be that way,” he muttered, the t-shirt slipping and giving Fenrir a tantalising view on Harry’s creamy white neck and the frail-looking shoulder. “See if I make such an offer again.”

“You won’t have to,” Fenrir murmured, embracing Harry from behind and pulling the smaller man sharply back against his chest. “I’ll be sure to remember it and come back on it later, little moonlight, and now shush and in bed with you.”

Harry glared at him, out of principle more than for hopes Fenrir would be in any way impressed by it and batted at his hands for the same reason, before allowing the werewolf to tuck him into the furs and plant a scratchy kiss on his forehead.

“Fen?”

“What?”

“Don’t think you have won.”

“I wouldn’t dream about it.” The werewolf grinned. “And why would I want to?”

“I never claimed to understand you,” Harry mumbled, snuggling into the furs and looking, in Fenrir’s opinion, much too innocent for a man, who had just declared that he wanted to have sex, preferably this very moment. “What? Don’t you want to get the others?”

“Depends on your definition of ‘want’,” Fenrir said under his breath, but turned to the door to motion the two werewolves and Sirius back in.

While Remus and Sirius quickly settled behind Harry, holding the young man loosely in their arms, Sawyer hesitated at the door.

“Go on, cub,” Fenrir murmured encouragingly, nudging the other werewolf. “His teeth feel as unimpressive as they look.”

Sawyer took a deep breath, but walked over to the nest of furs, putting down the furs he had been carrying and arranging them to make the bed larger. “Do you need another fur, Harry? Are you cold?”

“’M fine,” Harry declared. “I thought you were staying, too.”

“I am.”

“Then why are you hovering around instead of lying down?” Harry demanded. “You, too, wolfie.”

Fenrir grunted, putting his hand on Sawyer’s shoulder. The black-haired werewolf obediently followed the pressure and dropped to his knees, crawling towards Harry and stretching out next to him. Harry observed him keenly then gave a soft snort and snuggled closer to the werewolf, nestling his face in the crook that was formed by Sawyer’s elbow. Sawyer hesitated for a moment, glancing insecurely at his Alpha, before he gently rested his arm around Harry, who sighed happily. Fenrir, faced with the hard reality that there was no space immediately next to Harry, lay down behind Sawyer, tucking the other werewolf’s head under his chin as he reached over him to intertwine his fingers with Harry’s.

“I can move, sleep somewhere else,” Sawyer offered, squinting up at the Alpha.

“Are you comfortable, irresistible little thing?” Fenrir asked Harry.

“Didn’t find me all that irresistible earlier,” Harry groused, and Fenrir grinned.

“I just wanted your godfathers to hear that,” he declared smugly. “Now, answer the question.”

Harry huffed, pulling the fur up to his chin. “Piss off and let me sleep, Fen.”

“Harry, I have not taught you to use such language!” Remus admonished sternly, reaching over Sirius to tuck the fur around Harry.

“Must have been someone else then,” Harry muttered, burying his face against Sawyer’s body. “Goodnight, everyone.”

“Goodnight, cub,” Remus and Sirius said almost simultaneously, and Sawyer added a soft growling “goodnight” as well.

“Sweet dreams,” Fenrir said, leaning over Sawyer to press a kiss on Harry’s forehead.


	42. Experience

Harry woke to butterfly kisses feathered all over his face and gentle fingers skimming over his body. “Wake up, small one, we have to get ready for that class and you have to eat something.”

With a groan, Harry blinked his eyes open and stared blearily up into Fenrir’s golden eyes. “’M not hungry, want to sleep some more.”

Fenrir grumbled, pulling the warm fur away from Harry. “That isn’t an option, now you better get up before I get the cold water.”

Harry glared at him, unhappily picking himself up and rubbing his eyes. “Do you even care that you interrupted one of those naughty dreams you were so eager about yesterday?”

“Must’ve been a rather lame dream,” Fenrir commented, looking pointedly at Harry’s lap.

“Maybe that is because even your dream-self is a worrywart and spoilsport,” Harry grumbled, unhappily staring at the clothes Fenrir was handing him.

Fenrir sighed a little, leaning in to capture Harry’s lips in a soft kiss before he answered: “You do know that you’re testing every ounce of my self-control, don’t you? You’re beautiful and sexy and enticing and the most nymphomaniac little thing that I ever had the pleasure to get to know.”

“And what good does that?” Harry demanded. “I’m sick and tired of celibacy, Fen. I’m sick of everyone else having more say over my body than I do. I can look after myself **and** the baby. His numbers were always green, weren’t they? Why is that not good enough?”

“You agreed that Lestrange had a point,” Fenrir reminded. “You agreed to take it easy.”

“Yeah, sure,” Harry muttered, putting on his socks. “Stop hovering, will you? I’m not overdoing it by getting dressed.”

“I’ll wait outside,” Fenrir offered, wisely choosing to retreat before Harry exploded again. “Call me when you’re ready.”

Harry rolled his eyes and pulled on one of his new sweaters before reaching for a pair of jeans with an elastic waistband and slipped into them. He glanced up, noting that though Fenrir had left, the door was still slightly ajar. He sighed. Yes, he had agreed to being on bed rest, but Lestrange had given him the okay to get up today, take a shower, walk around and even to participate in all the exercises the teacher of the antenatal class would deem safe. He conjured up the ultrasonic screen, just to be sure, to be absolutely sure that his baby was okay. Dark green numbers greeted him and even his own had changed to a bright green. His baby’s heart beat was regular and strong and it looked as if he was sucking his thumb, content and happy in Harry’s stomach. Harry didn’t want to think too much about that last bit because the thought that there was a little human being growing inside of him was still very disconcerting.

Harry felt Fenrir kneel down next to him, carefully gathering Harry into his arms. “He’s grown so much,” he whispered in awe, slipping one hand under Harry’s sweater and tenderly caressing the taut skin. “Do you think he can hear us?”

“What would you tell him?” Harry asked, stretching out against Fenrir but not turning to meet his gaze because his eyes were still focused on his child.

“That we all can’t wait to meet him,” Fenrir said after a brief pause of consideration. “That we’re very excited. I’d tell him that Chetan always wanted a little brother and that Sawyer sometimes hums lullabies under his breath. Maya will dote on him, probably spoil him rotten, but that’s her right as a surrogate grandmother, isn’t it? And of course Remus and Sirius will be happy to babysit and tell him stories about the good old days... And I’ll be there as well, always. You won’t have to worry about anything because I’ll keep you safe and make sure you’re happy and loved, cub. I love you and I know you’re perfect.”

He leaned forward, laying a tender kiss on Harry’s middle and then drew back to give Harry a kiss as well.

Harry licked his lips once they had been released, glancing shyly up at the older man and confessed, “I always feel stupid talking to him. I never know what to say.”

“Have you told him what you feel for him?” Fenrir prompted gently, tightening his hold on Harry. “Go on, I won’t laugh and he won’t either.”

Harry let out a noisy breath and nervously tapped his fingers on the bedspread. “I... I can’t do this, Fen. I’ll sound ridiculous, talking to my stomach.”

“But you’re not, you’re talking to your child,” Fenrir corrected. “Just try. I think it would be good for you.”

“How so?” Harry demanded suspiciously, narrowing his eyes when the werewolf shifted uncomfortably.

“You haven’t really been dealing with this,” Fenrir said carefully. “With what will happen after our child is born. You worry too much about the pregnancy, about the full moons, about your body and your magic being strong enough to sustain the changes, and that’s understandable, but I think you also do that because you don’t want to think too much about what happens afterwards. But thus you’ve been missing out on all the good stuff, on all the happy moments and the little details that make this so incredible. Maybe you should try to enjoy this a little more.”

“There’s nothing enjoyable about morning sickness, aching backs and bed rest,” Harry snapped, wincing immediately. “I didn’t mean -”

“I know, little one,” Fenrir intervened, pressing a kiss into Harry’s hair. “That wasn’t an attack. It was my opinion and you’re of course allowed to ignore it like you do so often, but while I don’t mind your snappish attitude, you don’t seem too happy with it. I’ve heard say that some women enjoy pregnancy, you know?”

Harry sighed, resting his head back against Fenrir’s shoulder and carefully moving his hands over his swollen stomach. It wasn’t that Fenrir was wrong, he thought morosely, it was more that he wasn’t right, either. Harry **had** been thinking about what would happen after his child would be born, but while Fenrir seemed to assume that thinking about it would provide Harry with solutions, Harry had come to the realisation that there simply was none. Thinking about it didn’t change anything, didn’t change the fact that Harry was unsure and confused and so damn scared that he sometimes startled awake in the middle of the night his mouth opened in a silent scream. Fenrir wasn’t right: no matter how much positive or sensible thinking he forced himself to engage in, no matter how he changed his tune – the song remained the same.

“I guess... I’d want him to know that my... reservations concerning this pregnancy have nothing to do with him, that they don’t translate to my love for him. I’d want him to know that I’ll love him and that...” He broke up, shook his head.

Fenrir smiled approvingly, not insisting that Harry talk directly to their son or finish his last thought, and got up, offering a hand to Harry. “Breakfast?”

ö_ö_ö

After they had passed the two portals and after a short walk, Fenrir stopped them before entering the small inconspicuous building through a magically hidden door. “Moonlight, promise me to tell me immediately if you don’t feel good.”

Harry swallowed the sharp retort that had been on the tip of his tongue when he met Fenrir’s almost pleading gaze. “Yeah, I will. Will you promise me... Don’t leave me alone please.”

“I’ll be right by your side,” Fenrir murmured earnestly. “The entire time.”

He dropped a kiss on Harry’s forehead and then pushed into the warm and noisy reception room. They hardly had the time to take in the moving posters of new-fledged families, the lovingly tended potted plants or the assortment of plushies, building bricks and other toys before the slightly plump bright-eyes desk witch hustled them into an even warmer room. It was, in Harry’s opinion, much too fluffy and squashy as that the thought of a padded cell at a mental institution could have been avoided completely, but nonetheless they were told to get comfortable and to leave their shoes on the conveniently placed rack. Harry was left to stare in horror at the other participants, who were all either exclusively male or exclusively pregnant.

“Relax, sweet one, I’m here,” Fenrir murmured in his ear, stabilizing Harry as he toed of his shoes.

“They’re all female,” Harry hissed. “I’m the only fucking male who’s pregnant here.”

“Oh, dear, don’t you worry.” A lively, very pregnant witch pulled him by the hands into the room, oblivious to the fiercely protective expression on Fenrir’s face. “We’re a very welcoming bunch, aren’t we, girls? I’m Emily, by the way, and this is my husband Frank. And of course you’re Harry. And you are?” She turned expectantly to Fenrir.

“Greyback, I’m the father,” Fenrir replied gruffly.

“Of course you are, dear,” Emily rolled her warm brown eyes. “Men. They’re always so proud of becoming fathers, even though they certainly aren’t doing much, are they?”

“That’s why I’m just fine on my own,” another witch spoke up. “Hey, Harry, good to see you again. Have you recovered from that terrible fright?”  
“Helen,” Harry said without much emotion, though Fenrir’s response had all the emotion his had been lacking, “It was more than a simple fright, witch!”

“Fen,” Harry admonished, wrapping the werewolf’s arm around his waist. “I’m safe now, am I not?”

Fenrir grumbled, but palpably relaxed his muscles. “That you are, little one... And I do help you wherever I can.”

Harry’s smile was alarmingly heart-warming, and Fenrir choose to comment it with a grunt before he listened attentively, though with little interest, to Emily and Helen debating the pros and cons of husbands, the advisability of vitamin pills, the joys and pains of pregnancies in general. When they went into more and more gory details of the miracle that was giving birth, Harry turned steadily more green and was visibly relieved when the teacher, a strong-boned witch with dark brown hair and slightly too much blush on her pronounced cheekbones entered the room and clapped her hands for attention.

“Hello, everyone. My name is Mary St.Adams and I will be your coach for this antenatal class. We will individually, though briefly, review how each of you has progressed so far and talk about what you can expect in the coming months. We will also learn certain breathing and relaxation techniques that will help you not only on the big day, but already before that. And I hope to be able to dispel any and all fears and doubts you, also the fathers, might harbour right now. Shall we begin?” She clapped her hands again and then drew her wand.

Fenrir tensed, his eyes narrowing suspiciously, and he could feel Harry’s body tense in response, his magic fairly thrumming underneath that soft, white skin. But the teacher, Mary, only directed the mats that had previously been stacked at the side of the room to flutter in a loose circle around her before settling down in the form of the sun.

They were instructed to choose a mat and since Harry decisively strode over to a greyish blue mat near the only window, Fenrir had no choice but to follow. He carefully assisted Harry in sitting down before he plopped down behind him so that Harry would have the possibility to rest his back against his body if he got tired. When they were all comfortably settled, Mary asked them to share their experiences about morning sickness - which seemed to be the women’s favourite subject - swollen feet – that made a close second - food cravings - here the men were in their element - and sonographs, baby movements and possible names.

Fenrir drowned them out, but after a while he realised that Harry was unnaturally quiet, not contributing anything to the conversation. “Little one, don’t you want to say something?” he asked quietly, but unfortunately Helen, who had chosen the mat to their right still heard him and focused her whole attention on the black-haired man, staring at him inquiringly. “Harry, how have **you** been?”

Harry blushed, twisting his fingers as if he wanted to reach for his wand before forcefully relaxing them again. “Good.”

“Did you have morning sickness?” Emily asked with interest, her eyes alight with curiosity. “I always wondered if it would be as bad for a man. You know, since normally they aren’t very sensitive, are they?” She laughed. “No offense intended of course. Well?”

Harry startled, obviously having expected her to forget her question and rattle on happily without his help. “Some. Not anymore though.”

“Well, of course.” Emily smiled good-naturedly. “Morning sickness normally passes by the end of the first trimester.”

Harry shrugged, pressing a bit more into Fenrir, who decided that since Harry obviously didn’t feel like talking it would be his duty to make sure that the younger man wouldn’t be bothered. He bared his teeth, a growl rumbling up in his chest as his eyes flashed yellow at Emily. The effect was instantaneous, and, for Fenrir at least, very satisfying as the pregnant witch shied back, her hands pressed to her impressive bosom.

“Ah, well, maybe we should move on to the practical part of this lesson?” Mary suggested, her voice suspiciously squeaky.

“Little wizard?” Fenrir whispered against the shell of Harry’s ear, trailing a soothing hand over his abdomen. “What’s the matter?”

“I... I don’t like baring my soul for all of them to see and gossip about once they’re out of here.” Harry hesitated briefly but then answered, “I don’t know if this was such a good idea, wolfie.”

“Shh, sweet little thing. Let’s try at least, hm? And if you still don’t like it in, let’s say, half an hour, I’ll take you home right away. Deal?”

“Yeah.” Harry nodded with a grateful smile, twisting around fluidly to peck Fenrir’s lips. “I’m just a little on edge, I guess.”

Fenrir grunted in agreement, thinking that if Harry was nervous, he was feeling at least a hundred times worse. All that magic, controlled, dangerous, poised to attack at any given moment, hostile. It was making his skin itch. And that smell! Sweaty, with a touch of sickness, of fever, stuffy. He had to bury his nose in Harry’s raven locks every few minutes just to appease his roiling stomach. Harry smelled heavenly, more than that, like a dream, like a fresh breeze, like his. Always like his. He had made sure of that. He buried once again in Harry’s hair, this time to hide his satisfied smirk. As much as he loathed being here, surrounded by wizards and witches, in a smelly room with one lonely window and a ceiling that hang far too low, he hoped that Harry would be able to relax and unwind here and get the reassurance Fenrir was not sure how to give. It didn’t seem, though, like this would happen any time soon with Harry’s body impossibly taut and cramped, his breath carefully controlled, his fingers digging into Fenrir’s thighs.

“I’m here,” he murmured, wisely keeping all other thoughts to himself, and traced the row of Harry’s fingers until they relaxed **slightly.**

“Very well, are you all comfortable?” Mary asked with a beaming smile that seemed sufficiently honest. “I realise this might sound banal, but we want to start by developing your breathing awareness, which can help ease tense muscles and anxieties, bear labour pains, slow your heart beat and allow you drift off into restful sleep. Though, these exercises are intended for the pregnant ones among us, the fathers-to-be should feel free to take part or help their partners to find the right rhythm... Inhale slowly through your nose, feel your lungs fill with air, your ribcage expand. Then exhale through your mouth, slowly, consciously making the air leave your body and taking with it possible tensions or worries. Inhale through your nose, deep into your stomach, imagine that you’re feeding the air to your baby, hold your breath for a second and exhale through your mouth. Close your eyes. Find your rhythm. Concentrate on every breath.”

Harry most certainly wasn’t relaxing or closing his eyes. He was breathing, all right, but all the while, his eyes jumped around wearily, and Fenrir decided that just wouldn’t do. He carefully took Harry’s hands in his, left into right, right into left, intertwining their fingers and crossing Harry’s arms in front his slight chest.

“Close your eyes, small human, do as the witch says,” he ordered gruffly, shushing Harry when he made to protest. “No one will hurt you.”

Harry sighed rather petulantly, but obeyed, tightening his hands on Fenrir’s.

“Now breathe,” Fenrir commanded sternly, though still in a quiet voice so as not to attract the attention of the others. “Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Inhale – why aren’t you inhaling?”

“Because you’re too fast!” Harry glared at him. “This isn’t a competition of speed, and I doubt hyperventilating will help matters.”

Fenrir growled, warningly nipping Harry’s cheek. “Fine, if you don’t want my help, breathe on your own, but damn well breathe.”

 

“I have been breathing without your expert guidance for most of my life,” Harry quipped. “It will not be such a challenge to continue now.”

“Enough,” Fenrir grumbled darkly, squeezing Harry’s hands a little tighter. “I want you to do this breathing thing and I want you to do it now. No more nickering. You won’t like the consequences if you don’t obey me and yes, you can construe that as a threat.”

Harry grinned at him, unrepentant, challenging, defiant as ever, but Fenrir wasn’t fooled and saw the shadow of insecurity in his eyes, the shiver of fear that made goose bumps appear on the too skinny arms. Fenrir’s eyes added a please to his harsh demand, and Harry sighed, snuggling demonstratively into the werewolf’s chest before he closed his eyes. And breathed.

Fenrir did not expect it to work. At best, he had been cautiously optimistic that if Harry would have something else to focus on, he wouldn’t work himself up into a right panic. It worked at least in so far as that Harry made sure to **look** relaxed, calm, completely at ease with his surroundings, maybe even ignorant of them.

“Very well, Harry,” Mary sounded enthusiastic as she stopped in front of them. “Now, Fenrir, why don’t you help your partner a bit more? Put your head on Harry’s shoulder and let him hear and feel your own breathing. Support his breathing rhythm.”

Fenrir glared at her for her good-natured suggestion, knowing all too well that him putting his head anywhere near Harry’s neck would have the opposite effect, but before he could retort something cutting and mean that would most certainly lead to the coach crying, Harry intervened, slowly blinking his eyes open.

“I trust you, big bad wolf. Go ahead.”

“This won’t damn well help you,” Fenrir grumbled quietly. “I want you to relax, not prove to me that you trust me. This is not the right time or place, little stubborn thing.”

“I trust you, trust me as well,” Harry asked, shifting around a little bit so that his head rested lightly against Fenrir’s shoulder, peering up into Fenrir’s worried, golden eyes. “I’m not pretending, not in that respect.”

“Moonlight...”

“Who am I to trust if I can’t even trust the father of my child?” Harry demanded, pressing a dry kiss to the side of Fenrir’s mouth. “I have forgiven you a long time ago; it’s time that you forgave yourself.”

Fenrir pensively stroked a finger over Harry’s sharp cheekbone, marvelling at the soft, silky whiteness and the fragility of the bone underneath. It would be so easy to hurt Harry. Too easy. A moment of anger, a bit too much force, a simple act of carelessness and – snap! bones would break, flesh tear, skin bruise.

“I need you, wolfie,” Harry implored, mimicking Fenrir’s motion. “Don’t be afraid.”

His response was immediate, “I’m not afraid.” Though maybe he was as Harry’s gentle, only slightly teasing smile told him in no uncertain terms. “I just don’t... There’s no hurry. We can... you know... wait.” Harry kissed his nose before resting his head once more against Fenrir’s shoulder, turning just so that the pale column of his throat was put on perfect display, and the werewolf admitted defeat. “Oh, dammit, fine. Have it your way, but don’t come crying to me if it backfires in your face!”

He carefully, oh-so-carefully lowered his head resting it lightly, ever-so-lightly against Harry’s, waited, waited with bated breath, ready to draw back and count his loses at the slightest indication of an adverse reaction. Instead Harry chuckled, shifting that little bit that allowed the werewolf’s mouth to almost touch his vulnerable throat.

“Good boy, now breathe!” he commanded, nudging the older man’s tense stomach with his elbow, whereupon Fenrir released his breath in an undignified whush.

Harry squealed and ducked his head to escape the warm air that tickled over his skin, and Fenrir reflexively tightened his arms around him to keep him in place before releasing him hastily and jerking his head back.

“That tickled,” Harry declared, purposefully rearranging Fenrir’s arms once more around him.

Fenrir had to swallow heavily, but then carefully lowered his head again, brushing a kiss over Harry’s throat, grinning in victory when that produced a purr like sound from his lover. He did it again. And again. And again, memorising the curve of Harry’s jaw, the scent of his skin, the feel of his trust.

“Convinced?” Harry asked, playing his fingers over Fenrir’s muscled arm. “Because I think we’ve put on enough of a show.”

Fenrir reluctantly raised his head to find them monopolising the greater part of everyone’s attention. “What’re you all looking at?” he barked, showing his teeth for good measure. “Shouldn’t you all be busy breathing?! Fucking do that instead of goggling us or you won’t have to ever again!”

 “Fen, play nice,” Harry admonished him, smiling apologetically at the shocked couples.

 “Yeah, man, no need to bite our heads off,” Frank spoke up. “You’re creating a hostile atmosphere; it’s not good for the babies.”

 “Oh, come on, as if you would like being stared at,” Helen mocked. “I’m sure if everyone minded their own business, the atmosphere would be more **peaceful** right away.”

Properly chastised, Frank made a show of breathing with his wife Emily, and Harry smiled gratefully at the ginger-haired witch, who had jumped to their defence. She winked at him before closing her eyes and slumping comfortably against a large bean sack she had conjured up.

 “Lovely one?” Fenrir grumbled, pressing another kiss to Harry’s throat. “Alright? You want to go?”

 “No, I’m fine,” Harry replied earnestly. “I think we should do this. It might just help.”

Fenrir grunted, pushing his nose back against Harry’s neck so that the younger man could feel and hear his breath, and they fell back into a relaxing monotone of inhale, hold, exhale.

All things considered, Fenrir concluded while he helped Harry to his feet and wrapped his jacket around the two thin shoulders, half-heartedly listening to the coach, who was droning on about check-ups, emergency Floo addresses, muffins and their next meeting, it could have been a lot worse. Which did not, of course, mean that he was any less sceptical of the whole thing or that he didn’t think they could have breathed just as well without the teacher’s assistance.

“Hey, Harry, Fenrir, are you joining in as well?” Helen was suddenly in front of them, blocking the door, and her strong perfume almost compelled the silver-haired man to take a step back.

“Sorry, what?” Harry asked.

“We all wanted to grab some lunch in a restaurant not far from here,” Helen explained joyfully. “They have a really good buffet.”

“Uh, thanks, but I don’t think it would be a good idea for me to come.” Harry motioned vaguely down to his stomach. “Might cause some unwanted attention.”

“Oh, don’t you worry. It’s a wizarding restaurant,” Emily spoke up. “And they’re very accommodating to all kinds of people.” She glanced fleetingly in Fenrir’s general direction. “So, coming as well? Everyone is coming, to get to know each other a bit more.”

Harry was already formulating his refusal when Fenrir’s palm pressed gently into the small of his back, making him slump with a happy sigh into the werewolf’s secure embrace. “We’ll come,” Fenrir declared. “Harry needs to eat something.”

“So glad you’re keeping track of it,” Harry taunted. “Otherwise, I might be forced to listen to the signs my body sends me and those are so unreliable.”

“You seem keen to purposefully misunderstand them,” Fenrir commented. “Thus, it’s a good thing that I keep track of it for you. You didn’t eat much for breakfast and this way you can have exactly what you want. All that vegetable stuff - how’d you call it? - vegetarian? That crap.”

“You sure know how to stimulate one’s appetite,” Harry mocked. “And I like Maya’s cooking. I certainly appreciate all the extra work she’s doing just for me.”

“That’s not the issue,” Fenrir stated forcefully. “You’re one of the pack, and we take care of you. If that means getting you food without any meat and probably lacking essential vitamins, minerals and whatnot, so be it. Maya doesn’t mind.”

“I know,” Harry admitted softly, squeezing Fenrir’s hand before wrapping his fingers around Fenrir’s thumb. “I just thought you’d be eager to herd me back to bed and try to smother me with too many blankets.”

Fenrir scowled, pushing Harry up against a convenient wall and shielding him with his body as he let several chatting couples pass them. “I don’t want that.”

“Well, not literally, of course,” Harry amended.

“Neither figuratively, small thing,” Fenrir grumbled, backing off slightly as if to prove his point. “I don’t want to smother you, and I think you need to get out so I’m taking you.”

“My hero.” Harry grinned, lifting up to press a kiss to Fenrir’s lips. “I never thought I’d need one of those until I met you.”

“You don’t need just any hero.” Fenrir laughed. “You need me.”

The younger man hummed, wriggling his fingers through the worn loops of Fenrir’s jeans. “Might be true.”

“Of course it is,” Fenrir stated, dealing a light slap to Harry’s buttock. “Now let’s fatten you up a little.”

Harry glared half-heartedly at him, before allowing the werewolf to slip an arm around his waist and to guide him safely to the little restaurant the rest of the group was steering to with determination. It was warm and cosy, with big, comfortable armchairs in dark colours. Despite it being only early afternoon, the lights were on, though slightly dimmed, so that the place was illuminated and bright. The wooden floor and tables were worn smooth with age, but unblemished, obviously protected by magic. One of the couples must have given notice of their arrival because a large table was reserved for them, and they all filed into the armchairs.

Fenrir looked in distaste at the squashy light blue pillows that lay on all the armchairs before grabbing them and tucking them around Harry. He then sat down in his armchair, kicking his long legs under the table, smirking when one of Harry’s feet sneaked between them.

“What can I get you to drink, ladies and gentlemen?” an older witch approached them, her notepad posed to take their orders.

When they had all placed their orders, their drinks magically appearing before them, the waitress asked them if they wanted to have something from the menu or rather try out the buffet and on Emily’s firm suggestion, they all opted for the buffet.

“Let’s wait a bit,” Harry asked Fenrir when the others got up. “I don’t want to be jostled.”

“I wouldn’t let you be jostled,” Fenrir grumbled, reaching out to rest a hand on Harry’s stomach. “You two feeling alright, little wolf?”

“Yeah.” Harry grinned at him, putting his hands over Fenrir’s, and relaxed into his armchair. “I was wondering... Healer Lestrange still has Marrock - ”

Fenrir growled angrily, baring his teeth. His eyes flashed yellow as he tugged Harry into his lap to press his nose against the younger man’s pale throat. Harry’s hands fisted in his hair for a moment before he allowed himself to slump in the werewolf’s hold, submitting to Fenrir’s protective anger since he knew it wasn’t directed at him.

“No,” Fenrir growled. “No, dammit, little one. Get that idea right out of your head. I’m not letting you anywhere near that... that monster! Forget it!”

“We can’t just leave him there indefinitely,” Harry protested carefully. “He was under a spell. We should at least give him a chance to justify himself.”

He whimpered when Fenrir howled testily, twisting his fingers in the silver hair before narrowing his eyes and glaring up at his partner as best as he could. “Now you listen to me, wolfie. I’m willing to discuss this with you, but that means that you will damn well listen to my opinion and if you want to say something, fine, be my guest, but I expect you to articulate your arguments in a civilised manner instead of bending me over your knee like a naughty child. If you would let me up now? I’m hungry.”

With a decisive push of his magic, he freed himself and got up, queuing behind the others.

“Problems?” Helen asked from in front of him, handing him a plate.

“No, just a misunderstanding.” Fenrir appeared behind him, wrapping an arm around Harry’s waist and pressing a kiss to his temple. “We’ll talk later, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Harry handed his plate over, reaching for a new one for himself.

“Little one,” Fenrir murmured lowly and then sighed, shuffling some vegetable mix onto his plate. “Want some of this?”

Harry nodded, holding out his plate. “Only a little, though.”

“Harry, you really have to try this potato gratin, it’s amazing,” Helen commented from his other side, motioning to a delicious looking casserole dish, and Harry’s stomach grumbled in anticipation; potato gratin had always been one of his favourites.

He smiled at Helen, who used her wand to manoeuvre some pickles onto her plate. Some pasta, vegetable and cheese sauce later, he was ready to heap the rest of the gratin onto his plate, not feeling too bad because only Fenrir and Frank were after him, and well, he was pregnant, wasn’t he? But Fenrir stopped his movement.

“It’s not fresh. Smells off,” Fenrir cautioned. “Maya will make you potato gratin at home. Alright? Take some more pasta.”

Harry sighed desolately, but moved on and instead took some vegetable lasagne before turning back to their table. Fenrir grabbed a small bowl of salad for Harry before following the younger man, quickly setting everything down so that he could pull out Harry’s armchair for him.

They didn’t take part in the conversations around them, which centred mostly on jobs, household and of course their babies, but Harry stared longingly at Frank’s plate opposite of his. The brown-haired wizard had taken a good helping of the gratin and was eating it with relish. It was so unfair. Most likely, Fenrir was merely overreacting.

A heavy hand landed on his knee, squeezing gently until he looked up at the werewolf, who was watching him with worried eyes. “Do you want some pie? They have apple, cherry, peach and chocolate cake.”

“Maybe some apple with cream?” Harry asked, and Fenrir almost beamed in relief, placing a plate with a slice of pie in front of him soon after. “Thanks.”

“Eat it, little one,” Fenrir urged.

“Stop staring at me, and I will,” Harry grumbled, feeling a rush of guilt when Fenrir’s gaze snapped away from him; he reached out for Fenrir’s hand that rested on the tablecloth and tugged it over to his stomach, sending the older man a crooked smile when he stared back at him and mouthed an apologetic “mood swings”.

Fenrir smirked and mouthed something back that looked suspiciously like “lame excuse” before he nudged Harry’s knee with his and motioned to the pie. “Eat.”

Harry rolled his eyes but tucked into his pie, sighing blissfully from time to time not only at the taste but also at the tender rubbing of Fenrir’s fingers. He licked the last of the whipped cream from the spoon, hearing the werewolf’s strangled gasp of pleasure with satisfaction, and then intertwined his hand with Fenrir’s.

“Ready to go?” the werewolf asked. “How tired are you?”

“A little,” Harry admitted. “Let me just pay and then you can take me back home, alright?”

“I’ll pay,” Fenrir protested, getting up to do just that, but Harry’s green eyes flashing dangerously made him backtrack. “Fine, you go ahead, silly thing.”

“Are you leaving already?” one of the women, Shelly, asked, garnering the attention of the others.

Emily turned to Harry, looking at him in worry, especially when Harry’s hands moved to cup his belly with a small gasp. “Aren’t you feeling well, dear?”

“No, no, I’m fine,” Harry mumbled hastily, while he handed some money over to the waitress. “I’m just kind of under orders from my healer not to overdo it, you know?” He smiled sheepishly while shrugging into his jacket with Fenrir’s help. “It was nice to meet you in any case and we’ll see you next week.”

Without acknowledging their replies, he walked them out of the restaurant, tugging Fenrir in the next best alley and pressing Fenrir’s hand to his stomach. “He moved! Fen, he moved!”

For a split second, the werewolf looked confused, but then he beamed, slipping his hand under Harry’s sweater and moving it carefully over the soft swell. “Is he still moving? What did it feel like? Moonlight?”

Harry grinned at him, Fenrir’s enthusiasm making him feel slightly less uneasy about something moving in his stomach. Merlin, there really was a baby in his stomach! He had felt an occasional flutter before, a light tickle, but nothing like this. He couldn’t put it down to muscle spasms or indigestion anymore, this was real. Merlin, he felt queasy. He slumped back against the wall and gently led Fenrir’s large hand to his side, little over his right hipbone where he could still feel the baby’s movement. If he concentrated on Fenrir, he thought, he might just be able to keep his food down.

Fenrir’s brow furrowed in concentration before he could also feel the soft fluttering under Harry’s skin. He leant even closer, eager not to let the slightest movement escape him and pressed a fleeting kiss to Harry’s temple before burying his nose against the white neck, nestling the young man in his arms.

“I love you, my perfect little wolf,” Fenrir murmured, finally pulling back a little a good while after he could no longer feel the baby. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Harry sighed, looping his arms around the older man’s back, holding on. The slight nausea had passed, thankfully, and it was easier to sort out his feelings and accept that there was a little human growing in his body now that his baby had stopped moving so much. And the movement had been a good sign, right? They had learned so in their class, and Healer Lestrange had mentioned something like that as well. So this was good. It was weird, there was no use denying that, but it was good. He felt a smile creep onto his face, felt warmth spread through his body.

“For giving me a family, for giving me yourself, for everything. You’re the best damn thing in my life,” Fenrir grumbled. “And don’t complain; you brought the flattery onto yourself.”

Harry chuckled, pecking Fenrir’s chin. “Don’t worry. Today, I wouldn’t mind too much being treated like a princess. Take me home?”

“Gladly,” the werewolf agreed, scooping the slender man up. “You don’t mind me carrying you, do you?”

“My feet are kind of sore,” Harry mumbled. “And my back hurts.”

“I’ll take care of you, sweet one. I’ll make this day as good as you made mine special,” Fenrir grumbled tenderly, meeting the brilliant green eyes with love in his own. “I’m so lucky to have you.”

“Hm, I know.” Harry grinned smugly. “You know, I’m happy. I’m really happy.” His voice was filled with wonder.

“Good.”

“That’s a new one for me,” Harry offered cautiously. “I just... No one ever really gave a damn, myself included. And now suddenly there’s you.” He smiled.

Even though it went against everything in Fenrir, he offered, “Remus always cared and the rest of the pack does, too. As do your friends.”

“I know. I guess it just never was quite enough against everyone else’s expectations and demands. My happiness was never a primary concern.”

“Well, now it is, closely followed by your health,” Fenrir said decisively, stepping with Harry through the first portal. “I’ll give you a massage once we’re home, how does that sound?”

“Fantastic,” Harry murmured, snuggling into the werewolf and closed his eyes until they passed through the second portal and were soon after surrounded by the pack.


	43. Revenge

Fenrir looked down at the beautiful young man lying in post-coital bliss in his arms, debating with himself if he could give Harry a few more minutes or if that would make them late. Some hours ago, Lestrange had finally cleared Harry from his strict bed rest and though he had cautioned them to take it easy and give Harry enough opportunities to recover and gather strength, he had also given the okay for them to be intimate again. And Harry certainly hadn’t been about to wait a moment longer.

He smiled at the little wildfire snuggled into his chest and started to kiss him carefully awake until sleepy forest-green eyes blinked up at him. “Time to get up?”

“If you still want to go to that dinner at Helen’s,” Fenrir replied gently. “We’ll send Hedwig if you don’t feel like going.”

“No, I want to go. Emily said she’d come as well.” Harry slowly sat up, running a hand through his hair.

Fenrir wordlessly handed Harry his wand, knowing how much Harry had come to like the older woman, who had broken through Harry’s defences with her ready smile the gentle words she had for everyone.

“You know that Frank is still in the hospital,” Fenrir warned, not wanting Harry to be disappointed. “Though how anyone can be so sick from a simple stomach bug is beyond me.”

“But he’s doing better already, right? It’s only a matter of time until he’ll be back on his feet,” Harry murmured while he spoke some quick Cleaning and Refreshening Charms over them. “And Emily deserves a night away from it all, don’t you think?”

Fenrir nodded, kissing Harry’s neck before the younger man could cover it with his jacket. “Ready to go?”

Harry grinned, trailing his fingers down to the waistband of Fenrir’s jeans. “I’m ready for a lot of things, my big bad wolf. And I’ll definitely be wanting more once we get back.”

“Hmm, I’ll be glad to deliver,” Fenrir murmured seductively in Harry’s ear before nibbling on it. “You don’t smell nearly enough like me anymore.”

“We couldn’t have that.” Harry tilted his head in a clear demand for a kiss.

He hummed when he felt Fenrir’s rough lips on his, forceful and possessive as always but with an undercurrent of tenderness that, though not quite new, still threw Harry for a loop. Gentle nips prepared him for the insistent tongue that traced the seam of his lips, asking for entrance but never quite waiting for permission. Their tongues battled passionately, but Harry didn’t feel too disappointed when Fenrir came out the clear winner, pressing Harry against the door and framing his head between his large, rough hands.

Harry moaned, arching his back and then slumping happily back against the firm wooden surface of the door when his knees threatened to give out under him. A pleased growl rumbled up in Fenrir’s chest, vibrating under Harry’s hands.

“Let’s stay in,” he whispered, pushing harder against Harry but remaining mindful of Harry’s extended middle.

“Can’t,” Harry gasped, burying his hands in Fenrir’s silver hair. “Promised.”

Fenrir’s growl this time was unwilling, but he pulled back and made an effort to straighten their appearance. “Alright.”

“You’re not angry, are you?” Harry asked, capturing Fenrir’s right hand with both of his.

“No, sweet one.” Fenrir pulled Harry into a short, slightly gruff kiss. “I’ll have many opportunities to ravish you later on. I guess it’s not a bad idea to feed you beforehand.” He grinned wolfishly.

Harry rolled his eyes, but allowed Fenrir to sling an arm around his waist and start leading the way towards the portal. A speck of black in the darkening sky made Harry halt his steps and draw out of Fenrir’s loose, one-armed embrace to pick up the letter Voldemort’s raven had dropped in front of his feet without bothering to land or even diminish the height or speed of his flight. Arrogant and haughty like its master, Harry thought not without fondness. It was strange to say, but Voldemort had grown on him with his always demanding, ridiculously territorial, hubristic ways.

“What does he want now?” Fenrir grumbled. “We’re already late.”

“I like to think that Tom had nothing to do with that.” Harry grinned impishly at him while unfolding the brief missive.

The three words in Tom’s familiar, exaggeratedly punctual hand made him scowl in annoyance. _Typical._

“And?”

“What do you think?” Harry all but snapped, immediately feeling bad for taking his anger and frustration out on his lover. “It’s nothing, let’s just go, please. I’ll deal with it when I have to.”

Fenrir was ready to protest, he really was, but when Harry turned luminescent large green eyes on him, like a secret weapon, and then lifted on his tiptoes to press a kiss to Fenrir’s chin, it suddenly didn’t seem all that important any more.

ö_ö_ö

They arrived with more than half an hour of delay, presentable only because of the liberal use of Harry’s magic.

“Finally! I was getting worried,” Helen greeted them, drawing Harry immediately into her arms before treating Fenrir to the same welcome. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, sorry,” Harry replied, though with no intention of offering a reason for their lateness. “I hope you didn’t wait with dinner. Where’s Emily?”

An expression of sorrow crossed her face though only for a moment before her smile was back in place. “She had to go back to the hospital. From what I gathered, Frank reacted badly to one of the potions they were giving him. It’s such a pity and on top of the pregnancy and looking after the kids…”

Fenrir needed no special mind-reading abilities to see Harry’s disappointment immediately, and he swore to himself that he would find a way for Harry to meet up with that woman, who seemed to do wonders for Harry’s self-esteem and health and who was, for a witch at least, not all that bad. For now, he contented himself with pressing a long kiss to the younger man’s temple.

“I’m sure we’ll have a nice evening in a threesome, and we can always pass the hospital on our way home, hm?” He smiled at the grateful look in Harry’s eyes though he did not quite see the reason why Helen had to clap her hands and let out a squealing sound reminiscent of an unoiled door that grated on all his senses; _humans!_

“Perfect! But now come on; I’m all but starving!”

“We couldn’t have that.” Harry smiled and easily followed her into the dining room of her apartment where the heavenly smelling food was waiting for them, protected by warming spells.

Fenrir felt his breath hitch in his throat, not because of the food, but because of Helen’s sense of decoration. Around the room, numerous pictures of what he suspected friends and family members, all smiling or grinning foolishly and most of them moving happily in and between their silver frames, were looking down on them, the light of the antique silver and crystal chandelier reflecting on the smooth glass planes and the shiny material of their frames. Silver, real silver. Fenrir considered turning heel. But Harry had already taken a seat and was chatting animatedly with their pregnant host.

Harry needed to get out, after two weeks of being confined to their hut and mostly also their bed, and Fenrir would be damned if a stuffed nose, irritated eyes and aching throat or a pounding headache would stop that from happening. He vaguely remembered feeling like this when he was a kid and had the flu. But it had passed and as long as he didn’t touch the silver, those stupid decorations wouldn’t do any actual harm. And their baby was fine, or Harry wouldn’t still be sitting here. He trusted in that.

So he took the seat opposite of Harry, focusing all his attention on his smaller partner to block out the sluggishly swirling and rocking room around him. Something tipped against his calf, and he became aware of the worry in Harry’s eyes, trying himself on his usual predatory smile that must have come out more like grimace.

“This really looks fantastic,” Harry said to Helen, offering her a shy smile. “And now that you mentioned it, I feel kind of starved as well. Must be all that eating for two, huh?”

The witch laughed. “Two? I sometimes feel like I’m feeding a whole army, and this little one certainly moves around enough for one as well.”

“But it’s so exciting, isn’t it? Fen can never keep his hands off of me when it happens, can you, wolfie?”

Fenrir startled, not at being suddenly included in their conversation, but at the naked, cold foot that slipped up the leg of his jeans and rested there, causing the room around him to stabilise and his eyes to stop itching, though his airways remained partially obstructed. Still it was an improvement.

“It’s always quite an effort, irresistible little thing,” he murmured. “And sometimes I just don’t bother.” He reached for Harry’s hand, pressing a grateful kiss to his knuckles.

“Hm, I appreciate it.” Harry licked his lips in an all-too-suggestive way before turning back to their host. “What about your daughter? Is she excited to be a big sister soon?”

“Quite.” She laughed. “Though not when it comes to sharing her toys; she’s adamant about that subject. I’m kind of glad my Mum offered to take Lisa for the night. I really needed a night off and this way, we won’t be disturbed. But let’s eat! Would you like some vegetable rice, Harry?”

“Of course.” Harry held out his plate, and soon after it was weighed down with rice, curry sauce and spring rolls.

“And I guess you also want some chicken, Fenrir?” The werewolf nodded though he was still slightly stumped that he hadn’t been served first; he was always served first!

When all their plates were filled to satisfaction, Helen motioned impatiently for them to begin. Fenrir noted in relief that Harry was eating with appetite, always a good sign since any kind of distress or negative emotion seemed to have the abnegation of food as a direct consequence. Even though he didn’t really taste the food, he still ate mechanically and also accepted a second helping.

Suddenly, Harry’s spoon stopped its ascend to his mouth and fell with a loud clatter back onto his plate, startling them all.

“Aren’t you feeling well, Harry?” Helen was smiling wider than ever.

“I… feel kind of faint?” Harry’s voice sounded questioning, surprised, and his right hand disappeared under the table to rub at his stomach. “Maybe we should cut his evening short.”

Fenrir had hastened around the table to hover protectively next to Harry’s chair, unsure how to help but determined to do so. Beads of sweat had gathered on Harry’s brow, and he was looking paler than ever, his mouth gaping slightly as if he had trouble breathing.

“I’ll get you to Lestrange. He’ll know how to help you,” Fenrir stated, ready to scoop Harry up.

“A fantastic plan,” Helen offered mockingly – when had she drawn her wand? “Only that I must insist you stay a little longer; I would hate to miss the final instalment of the miserable life of the grand Harry Potter. But don’t fret, Greyback, no healer would be able to help him now, anyway.”

“What have you done, woman?!” Fenrir demanded, almost roaring, and launched himself at her only to encounter an invisible shield of silver particles that burned his skin and made him stumble back.

“Why, poisoned you, of course,” she declared matter-of-factly and quickly disarmed Harry, who had shakily raised his wand. “You should feel the effects in a minute or two so no need to feel excluded. I wouldn’t make such a mistake. I made sure the poison would work on werewolves, too, though you made this all more complicated. Not only did I have to count in Harry’s paranoia, no, I also had to take your werewolf senses into consideration. An inconvenience, but of course not insurmountable. A bit more research, a few inquiries here and there and I found this handy little potion, not easy to brew but all the more effective and, most importantly, with no antidote known to mankind. Scentless, colourless, tasteless and in combination with a spell of my own invention to counteract Potter’s Poison Detection Spells, the perfect weapon to enact my revenge.”

“Why would you do this?” Fenrir growled, crouching protectively in front of his lover. “What have we ever done to you?”

“You personally? Not much, but I had to sacrifice better people for less,” Helen replied, still with an insane smile on her face. “In a war, there’re always casualties, something our dear Harry here never understood. It’s all about sacrifice. Good, brave people do the right thing and fight for their friends instead of letting others fight for them and enjoying the show from the safety of the back seats.” She stared accusingly at Harry. “You could have ended this war, ended it in our favour, but instead you condemned us to death, slavery or exile. This is your fault! All our efforts, all our help, all our **sacrifices** – for naught because you’re a selfish coward.”

“I seem to remember you encouraging the idea of throwing me into Azkaban and locking me up for good,” Harry said softly, his voice pain-filled but even. “I thought that would be enough of a sacrifice, Hermione.”

“You killed your family! They were kind enough to take you into their home, clothe you, feed you, educate you, and you repaid them by torturing them to death. You had to realise that we wouldn’t tolerate your extravagancies any longer.”

“They did all of that, didn’t they?” Harry mused, leaning forward to rest a hand on Fenrir’s neck, who felt a wave of energy wash over him. “On occasion, when they felt generous. Though, I guess I should be grateful for their efforts of education. They made sure that their lessons left their mark on me. As did you.”

“Do stop feeling sorry for yourself, Harry. I had to listen to your whining for seven years. That alone would be reason enough to kill you.”

Fenrir growled warningly. Harry gave an indelicate snort.

“You find this amusing, Potter?” she snapped, the smile slowly bleeding from her face.

“Absurdly so,” Harry pressed out. “You go to all these lengths because I hoped to find sympathy with my self-proclaimed best-friends? Come on now, Hermione, I’m sure you can do better. You were never shy of throwing around accusations, after all. So entertain me since you don’t even have the courtesy to torture me to death properly. Poison, really? Isn’t that a bit impersonal, considering all our shared history?”

Fenrir realised that Harry wanted to keep her talking, but he had his doubts if provoking her while poison was coursing through their veins was in their best interest. A quick look over his shoulder confirmed his fears; Harry looked in pain, ready to collapse.

“Oh, you’ll have your torture, don’t you worry. Do you feel your blood turning slowly into liquid fire? Your muscles freezing into blocks of ice? Your bones becoming rusted knives that shred your flesh?” There was glee in her eyes, malicious and triumphant. „But the part I really look forward to is seeing you cough up your insides and with them your own child as your body tries to rid itself of all contaminations which that little bastard clearly is. Seeing your face will be my reward.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed dangerously for a second or two, and his hand tightened on Fenrir’s neck before he regained his calm.

“Dappling into the Dark Arts? Ts, ts, ts, Hermione, be careful or you might ruin that immaculately white vest of yours,” he taunted, but his breath had become gasping, uneven. “Though, I must admit, I’m surprised to see you again. And looking so little like your usual self… That new diat is really working for you.”

“Yes, you thought you were so clever with that oath, didn’t you?”

“I thought it to be one of my brighter moments,” Harry admitted modestly. “And yet, you’re here you are even though I saw you swear on your magic and life never to set foot into England again.”

“Not on **my** magic,” she spat, her gaze falling to her extended stomach, and Harry’s eyes widened.

“You were pregnant!” he cried accusingly. “You traded your baby’s life for this? For revenge?”

“What life would it have been?” Hermione demanded angrily. “Without a father and banned from their homeland but still condemned to see it sink further and further into darkness? That’s the difference between you and me, Potter. I’m willing to make sacrifices for the greater good!”

“You mean for revenge!” Harry snapped, seemingly more agitated by the death of her child than by their impending own end. “So what if you kill us today? You think this’ll do anything to stop Voldemort? Face it, this is merely your own, petty revenge.”

“I don’t think you have any capacity to tell the difference, Potter,” Hermione retorted. “But why should I waste my time trying to make you understand matters that are evidently too high for you?”

“Maybe because you like hearing your own voice?” Harry offered helpfully. “Though, I guess, this being not really your voice ruins the effect. What did you do to that poor woman, anyway?”

“Poor woman, don’t make me laugh!” the witch answered. “She was a slut and Death Eaters’ whore. Being in her body alone gives me the shivers.”

“You seem awfully cheerful for that,” Harry observed. “Cheering Charms, I guess? You do know that any prolonged use of them will likely cause insanity, don’t you? But of course, lucidity is a reasonable sacrifice when you consider the greater picture, isn’t it?”

“Just continue making your jokes. I can see right through you, I always could.”

“Ah, yes, far be it from me to forget your insightfulness. But since we’re chatting so nicely… You’re responsible for Marrock’s attack on me, aren’t you?”

“It should have ended then and there. If that werewolf had just activated the Portkey at once instead of catering to your sensibilities, you would have landed outside of Britain, in our midst and you would have had your torture. But instead I had to pretend to be your friend, lure you into a sense of security just to have you escape again! It’s your fault that Frank is in the hospital! The potato gratin was never intended for him and the plate was never intended for your little pet dog! You should have eaten it; you should have eaten from that plate! And with it the poison that would have made you miscarry, leaving you open and without defence… But it doesn’t matter anymore. We’re at the end now.”

“Indeed,” Harry murmured softly, only for Fenrir’s ears, tightened his hand on the werewolf’s neck and moved from behind him, disarming and immobilising Hermione with a bit of wandless magic and then summoning his wand. “Should really have checked for glamours, Hermione. Really should have.”

That accomplished, he made all the silver, including the sparkling chandelier, fly out of the window. “You feeling alright, Fen?”

Fenrir nodded mutely, scrutinising a suddenly much healthier looking Harry, who stood straight in front of him, always keeping an eye on the witch.

“Glamour,” Harry murmured by way of explanation though Fenrir had already gathered as much. “Didn’t even eat one bite and spelled your food clean as well. I also reinforced the protection on you, that’s why I played footsie with you. I needed skin contact to make it work and under the table she didn’t see the glow. But I was afraid it might not have worked.” He moved into Fenrir’s arms, who embraced him reflexively. “I’ll just have to dismantle her wards so that Voldemort can deal with her and then we can go home.”

Fenrir grunted, holding tighter onto the younger man when he raised his wand, moving it in a complicated arc so that an intricate map of spellwork, a net of knots and crossroads that spanned the whole ceiling and extended into the adjoining rooms became visible.

“It’s only a matter of finding the right knot, the one that holds it all together,” Harry explained as if Fenrir wanted any explanation for that.

“Awfully quiet now, isn’t she?” Fenrir nodded over to their host, noting the tremor in her fingertips that must have been the only sign of her trying to struggle.

“Silenced her,” Harry murmured, still sweeping the net with his eyes. “Could you maybe ease up a little? You’re kind of squeezing me here…”

In response, Fenrir loosened his arms so that they slipped lower and came to rest around Harry’s hips before he tightened his hold again, drawing a hiss from his lover. No, he wasn’t letting go. Not. Fucking. Likely.

“Thanks,” Harry muttered sarcastically before speaking a quick spell under his breath so that the wards collapsed, cascading around them like a million colourful raindrops.

A split second later, four plops announced to Fenrir that Voldemort and his crew of stuck-up wand-wavers had definitely had more of a warning than he about how this evening would end.

Rudolphus immediately went to their side, compelling Harry to lie down on the floor in spite of his protests that he was absolutely fine and hadn’t come in contact with any dangerous substance.

“All this stress is not good for you, Mr. Potter, as you well know,” the healer admonished. “If you keep this up, I fear you will be back on bed rest before the end of the week.”

“It’s only Monday,” Harry pointed out petulantly.

“I would sincerely like to know how this makes it any better,” Draco intervened, nudging Harry’s shoulder with his foot. “Your aim should be not to land in the hospital or on bed rest at all.”

“How is what I do or don’t do any of your business?” Harry snapped.

“Oh, it’s that mood today, is it?” Draco mocked. “I always enjoy it when you lash out at me.”

“Do I have to remind you not to upset my patient, Mr. Malfoy?” Rudolphus interrupted while still studying a series of numbers and runes. “Everything seems to be in order, Mr. Potter.”

“Told you so,” Harry answered triumphantly, making to sit up.

“However, you should stay put for a moment longer,” Rudolphus stopped him before turning to Fenrir. “Would you permit me to do a quick examination, Mr. Greyback?”

“I’m fine,” Fenrir growled. “Take care of Harry.”

“I’m sure it would ease Mr. Potter’s concerns if he had some proof that no harm has come to you, Mr. Greyback,” Rudolphus replied without missing a beat.

Fenrir scowled fiercely but finally nodded his consent though his whole body tensed when the healer raised his wand towards him and passed it slowly along the length of his body.

“Not even a trace of poison,” Rudolphus declared eventually, and Fenrir felt the urge to echo Harry.

“So that means we can go home now,” he chose to say instead, slipping an arm under Harry’s shoulder to help him sit up.

“As soon as you have decided what should be done with her,” Voldemort decided to enter the conversation, coming over to their group with David in tow. “Did you want to know what she said?”

“Not really.” “Yes.” Harry and Fenrir said at the same time and then exchanged long looks that bordered on glares.

“That is what I thought,” Voldemort replied. “Well, she’s a very sick woman that is for certain now. You should maybe have thought twice before letting her go, Harry.”

“I didn’t know that she was pregnant nor that she would…”

“… trade in her own child? Yes, puts a damper on Dumbledore’s celebrated mother’s love, doesn’t it? And to think how often that thwarted my plans; it’s rather disappointing that now the absence of it came into the way. Almost disturbing.”

“What happened to the real Helen?” Harry asked. “And her children?”

“Found her dead in the basement,” David offered. “Shorn bald.”

“As for her four-year-old daughter, she was given up for a adoption immediately after birth and lives with her new family in Brighton. Helen Glendower never had contact with her.” Voldemort answered. “It’s a good thing at least one of us does his research.”

“And the baby?” Harry didn’t look at the older man, instead choosing to study Hermione’s immobile form; already her hair was losing its fiery redness, turning back into Hermione’s bushy brown mane.

“No baby,” David replied. “Did a check on the body. She wasn’t pregnant.”

“Oh,” Harry mumbled, his hands tightening on Fenrir’s arm, who asked, “Was she working alone and can I expect something like this to happen again?”

“As far as we can tell, she was working alone, at least inside the country,” Voldemort answered. “But since Harry saw fit to send all his enemies on a little vacation, what is happening outside our borders is anyone’s guess.”

“They swore not to plot against you,” Harry protested.

“Yes, but did you demand a similar safety for yourself? Of course not!” Fenrir growled angrily.

Harry just lowered his head, and Voldemort interrupted the tension with another question, “So how do you want to proceed from here?” His wand was swirling merrily between his long fingers. “And I would consider it a personal favour if you did not listen to closely to that blood pumping organ in your chest or that inner voice that recites the Ten Commandments back and forth.”

“Kill her,” Fenrir demanded, closing his hand over Harry’s mouth. “If you don’t, I’ll inform Marrock, who, it seems, still has some scores to settle with her, and I can guarantee you that she won’t come out of that conversation in one piece.”

“She’s still a human being,” Harry protested weakly. “She at least deserves a trial.”

“I’m the jurisdiction,” Voldemort announced. “She just had her trial and she was found guilty.”

“I’m talking about a fair trial,” Harry snapped. “If we kill her, we aren’t any better than her.”

“I have no ambitions to be good,” Voldemort hissed, angry sparks spurting from his wand as if the thought alone offended him. “And yours are giving me a headache.”

“Too bad,” Harry retorted. “You asked for my opinion.”

“In the vain hope that you would have finally regained some common sense,” Voldemort spat. “She had her chance, so did you, and since you now seem hell-bent on committing the same mistakes again, I’m taking the decision out of your hands. She will die. Now, Harry, are you so desperate to prove your good intentions that you’re willing to fight with me, endangering yourself and your child, or will you, for once, listen to reason and keep out of this?”

“He’ll keep out of this,” Fenrir answered for Harry, once again clasping his mouth shut and growled warningly in Harry’s ear. “No discussion. And now we’re going home.”

He scooped Harry up, holding him close to his chest. “You can’t - ”

“Watch me!” he cut Harry off, glaring angrily down at the younger man.

“But - ”

“Shut up!” Harry winced, his eyes widening in surprise as he snapped his mouth shut.

Fenrir lengthened his steps as he carried the black-haired youth, for in reality Harry was little more than a child and Fenrir had been foolish not to see it, through the nightly streets of London until they reached the portal to take them back to Voldemort’s lair. He really didn’t have the patience for this. He just wanted to be home so that he could have a long heart-to-heart with his partner, who apparently had no intention to consider him as such. A growl rumbled in his chest, startling Harry into pressing his lips into a thin line.

When they passed through the final portal, the moonlight illuminated Harry’s pale complexion, giving him the appearance of a Greek god, his ethereal beauty sculpted into marble. It only served to fuel Fenrir’s anger.


	44. Partnership

“Care to tell me what happened tonight?” Fenrir growled menacingly after he had set Harry down in their hut, making sure that the wizard had a safe stand before he let go off him.

“Why are you so angry?” Harry asked, peering up at him with wounded eyes. “Is it so surprising to you that I don’t support cold-blooded murder? Or did you really think I would risk my child just to prove a point?”

“Our child,” Fenrir barked, infuriated beyond all reason by the roll of Harry’s eyes. “You knew what was going to happen.”

“Voldemort’s letter.” Harry shrugged. “He told me not to trust her and to be on the lookout.”

“And why, for Goddess’ Sake, didn’t you tell **me** about that tidbit of information?!” Fenrir growled, taking a step into Harry’s personal space, looming over him. “Why did you make me believe you had consumed a deadly poison, that you were in pain and dying slowly? Why did you actually make me eat poison - ”

“I spelled it clean!” Harry protested. “And you’re fine, no harm done. Why can’t we just be happy that it’s all over?”

“You knew what she was planning and you seeingly walked into her trap, risking all of our lives as if they were just a few low coins in a poker game,” Fenrir growled. “You acted like an irresponsible, arrogant **child**.”

Harry gaped at him. “What the fuck is your problem? We’re safe, the baby’s safe and you’ll get your way and a woman I called my friend for six years is soon going to be dead.”

“My problem? My problem? What do you think is my problem?!” Fenrir roared. “Maybe that you led me in there like a puppy on a leash that doesn’t have to know what is going on. Or maybe it’s the fact that you think me so incapable that you didn’t even consider telling me what is going on. Or maybe it’s your sheer stupidity that makes me want to strangle you.”

“It’s not true,” Harry argued. “I don’t think you incapable, but if I had told you, you wouldn’t have let me go - ”

“With good reason!”

“- and she would still be on the loose, ready to strike again and we wouldn’t have a clue what she was planning,” Harry continued. “Don’t you see? We had the advantage, and it would have been foolish not to make good on it.”

“Well, if you’re so convinced to have made the right decision to walk in there, inviting her to poison you, you should have damn well reasoned with me.”

“It would have taken too long, and we were already late; she would have become suspicious, and you would have acted differently,” Harry explained, running a hand through his hair. “I had everything under control, okay?”

“Sure,” Fenrir snapped, spun around and gathered up some of their furs.

“You’re still angry?” Harry asked almost timidly.

“Damn right I am,” Fenrir muttered before leaving the hut.

“But you don’t have to leave,” Harry said, and if Fenrir hadn’t been so angry he might have heard the note of panic that had sneaked into the younger man’s voice.

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m not,” Fenrir replied, coming back in. “You are. You fucked up, so it’s your turn to spend some time in the dog house and since I, unlike you, have a sense of responsibility and can’t very well let sleep outside while you’re pregnant, I left your furs at your godfathers’. Now out!”

“You’re kicking me out?” Harry asked incredulously, fearfully. “Fen!”

“You didn’t want to be treated like a girl; well, here you go.” He took Harry by the wrist, dragging the resisting man outside and then soundly closing the door behind him.

Harry bit back the tears that threatened to escape past his armour of self-control and glanced over his shoulder, hoping without hope that the door might open again. It didn’t, and he found himself alone on this suddenly very cold evening, unsure what to do or where to go. In vain, he tried to summon up some righteous anger, a spark of indignation that would help him through his moment of weakness.  Instead he found Minnie sitting in front of him, her tail wagging before she yowled with dropping ears.

“Not you too,” Harry muttered, but scooped her up and trudged over to his godfathers’ hut, where both of them were already waiting for him.

“Can we not talk about this right now?” he asked pleadingly, allowing Sirius to wrap him up in a warm, comforting embrace.

“We could,” Remus offered. “Only that I think this won’t do you any good. The Alpha is really angry.”

“He kicked me out,” Harry whispered, dropping heavily on a chair and burying his face between his arms. “I don’t understand why he’s angry.”

“Maybe we can help you with that if you tell us what happened,” Remus prompted again and slung a sheep fur around Harry’s trembling shoulders. “And how about a hot chocolate?”

Harry smiled weakly, absently patting Minnie, while Remus bustled around in the small kitchenette. When Harry held a steaming cup of cacao between his hands, he haltingly began to explain what had happened that evening, his voice almost becoming inaudible as he described Fenrir’s reaction. Finally, he trailed off, intently studying his empty cup as if it was one of Trelawney’s crystal balls while Fenrir’s angry words replayed in his mind. It could have been worse, he guessed. Their fight had been short, loud but far from vicious and Fenrir had kicked him out before it could get really ugly. But Harry would have preferred almost anything to being sent away.

“What did I do wrong?” he asked softly.

“Nothing,” Sirius was quick to assure him. “Want me to give him a good telling down?”

“I must have done something,” Harry insisted, turning imploringly to Remus.

“Have you tried to see the situation from Fenrir’s point of view?” Remus asked, rubbing circles on Harry’s back. “How would you have felt if you had been in Fenrir’s place and he had acted like you did? Going behind his back?”

“But my plan worked, and there was no time to discuss it with him,” Harry murmured. “And Tom knew what was going on; he would have stormed in there if something had gone wrong.”

“So, basically, everyone was informed but Fenrir?” Remus confirmed, arching an eyebrow. “Harry, you’re an intelligent young man. I don’t have to explain to you how it feels if things are decided over your head. This is not a matter of efficiency or prudence. It’s about you not respecting Fenrir’s authority as the Alpha and as your partner.”

“He’s not my master,” Harry protested immediately, crossing his arms over his chest. “If this is once again his bruised ego because I’m not his submissive little housewife, I’m going to kick his ass!”

“No, cub, I don’t think it’s about that,” Remus replied. “But considering that you’re expecting his child, don’t you think he should get a say in such a life or death situation? How often have you demanded to know everything during the war, that we stop keeping secrets from you, that Dumbledore tells you the whole truth because it is **your** life? Well, Harry, it’s no longer just your life. You and Fenrir are a team now.”

Harry groaned, letting his head drop onto the table with a resounding thump. “Oh, Merlin, I’m turning into Dumbledore.”

“You’re lacking the beard,” Sirius consoled him. “And I think it’s safe to say that Fenrir’s exaggerated egotism played a part as well... After all that special training the Order put you through and all the responsibility they heaped on your shoulder, it’s not your fault you have a bit of a hard time adapting to a life without that pressure. It just wasn’t such a lucky combination.”

Harry groaned. “No wonder, Fen is so angry. I have to talk to him.”

He hastily stood up so that the fur fell to the floor and turned towards the door.

“Maybe you should give the both of you a bit more time, sleep it over,” Remus suggested, but Harry just stared uncomprehendingly at him.

“I won’t get any sleep when I know that Fen’s angry with me,” he declared before slipping out of the hut, feeling the cold night air like a punishing fist around his throat.

Fenrir had said he would love to strangle him; he shivered. He hesitated in front of the heavy wooden door of their hut. Maybe he should knock? But he didn’t have to since Fenrir must have heard his quiet steps and jerked the door open, glaring down at him.

“Can we talk, Fen? Please?” Harry whispered before Fenrir could start yelling again or worse yet close the door in his face.

Fenrir’s glare didn’t soften in the slightest. “Not now. I think we need a bit of distance.”

“Please,” Harry begged. “I’m - ”

“Alpha, maybe I should come back later?” another voice asked from inside the hut, making Harry’s insides freeze completely.

“No, we’re finished here. Goodnight, Harry.” The door closed before Harry could reply, and Harry didn’t bother holding back the tears anymore as they rolled down his cheeks, leaving hot, salty trails.

For a long time he just stood there, allowing the cold to seep into his clothes, until a set of strong arms wrapped around him, comforting and protective, but while they guided him back to the warmth of the hut and tucked him under his furs, he could only think that they weren’t Fenrir’s because Fenrir’s arms were wrapped around Lin.

ö_ö_ö

“Maybe we should let him sleep? He had a rough night...”

The soft voices uselessly bounced against his tired brain, unable to permeate the thick barrier of desperation and sadness that had crusted his mind and heart like his tears had crusted his eyes.

“Patronus?” His shoulder was shaken lightly, and he felt a thin arm slip under his chest to sit him up. “Can you hear me?”

Harry nodded numbly, staring into his friend’s mismatched eyes, but couldn’t find it in himself to care that he looked so worried.

“Okay, up you go,” David told him, drawing him to his feet. “What you need is some fresh air and a healthy breakfast.”

Harry thought that what he really needed was Fenrir’s forgiveness, but he wouldn’t get that any time soon. The idea of food turned his stomach. Another strong arm around his middle to stabilise him.

“How anyone can degenerate so quickly without the excessive consummation of alcohol is beyond me. And please tell me that you haven’t been drinking, Harry,” it might have been Draco’s voice, but then again what did he care?

“No, I’m pregnant,” he said in a monotone even though he tried to feel something, anything for his child; he only felt another tsunami-sized wave of desperation and loneliness and those feelings were better left buried and suppressed.

“He’s really taking this to heart,” someone whispered. “I think we should get Fenrir. I know he’s angry, but he wouldn’t want Harry to suffer like this.”

“Doesn’t want to see me,” Harry whispered as he felt himself manoeuvred outside. “No use. Fucked up.”

“Harry.” David, holding his hands and kneeling in front of him; he didn’t remember sitting down. “Try to eat something, okay? Greyback would want you to take care of yourself.”

There were no more tears left to cry, but he felt his throat tighten nonetheless. He knew, he was pathetic, weak, useless; that he must be a miserable sight with blotchy eyes, crumpled clothes, hunched over to protect the little pride and dignity he had left; that this was his fault entirely and that he should damn well pull himself together. But he just had no strength, Fenrir’s anger and scorn like a paralysing poison.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, trying to find something to distract him from his misery.

“Greyback invited us a few days ago,” David answered cautiously, not missing Harry’s wince. “To keep you company so that you can take it easy and not be bored to death.”

Something else Fenrir had done for him. And really, hadn’t he done more than enough, giving Harry a home and a family, taking care of him and providing for his needs? And how had Harry repaid him?

“Hey, Patronus.” David lightly slapped his cheek. “Listen to me. I know you’re hurting but you got to get yourself together. I promise you, we’ll work this out. I promise, but you have to stay with me. Don’t shut down.”

“How?” Harry asked desperately. “How will this work out? I really fucked up this time, David. Fen doesn’t even want to see me, much less talk to me. How?”

“We’ll make him listen, okay?” David promised, rubbing Harry’s arms. “But you have to take care of yourself and the baby.”

“I can’t do this alone,” Harry whimpered. “It’s not supposed to be like this.”

“You’re not alone and you’ll make things right with Fenrir,” David assured him again though he obviously felt ill at ease with their switched roles.

“How?” Harry asked again, looking pleadingly at the grey-haired man.

“An apology is certainly in order,” Draco answered instead. “And maybe also a promise to better yourself, if you can manage.”

“Of course I’m damned well sorry. I should have talked to Fen and told him what was going on and I should have understood why he’s angry... I treated him no better than I was treated all my life and I was conceited and arrogant and blind and I deserve to be miserable, but I still need him and I don’t know what to do without him... I want to apologise, I want to make it up to him, but he won’t listen,” Harry pressed out, pushing the bowl of cereals that David was offering him as far away as possible. “I can’t eat now; I think I’m going to throw up.”

“Well, that might convince him,” Draco said, “or you tell him what you just told us, and if he’s not a complete idiot, he won’t turn you away because really, Harry, you look the part of the contrite and penitent lover.”

“Thanks, Draco,” Harry murmured with only a shadow of his usual sarcasm.

“I happen to agree.” Harry slowly turned around, letting his eyes take in every detail of bare feet, strong jean-clad legs, the trim waist that expanded into a powerful chest, strong muscles playing under the bronze skin, the stubbly yaw, the broad nose, the golden eyes watching him so intently. “I would have to be a complete idiot let alone an absolute jerk not to believe in your sincerity.”

Fenrir knelt down in front of Harry, carefully cupping the younger man’s face in his hands. “Apology accepted and now I’ll take care of you, little one. You look horrible. Did you sleep at all?” He scowled at Harry’s blood-shot eyes.

“You kicked me out,” Harry whispered, leaning into Fenrir’s touch despite the shivers that shook his body. “I... Don’t make me leave, please. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I know I ruined it, but please, don’t... I don’t know where to go. Please, I’m so sorry.”

“Harry, you silly little thing, no one is going anywhere, is that clear? And no one is sending you away,” Fenrir said with emphasis, gathering the trembling wizard in his arms. “I kicked you out of the hut, not out of the pack and certainly not forever. You’ve slept at your godfathers’ before.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yes, small human, I know you are,” Fenrir grumbled soothingly. “And I’m not angry anymore. But you gave me such a scare with all the things that could have happened to you, and I wouldn’t have even lifted a finger to help you because I didn’t know that there was anything amiss. Do you understand that, white one, that I was angry because you put yourself in danger? But that doesn’t mean that I loved you any less in the last few hours or that I wouldn’t fight tooth and nail to keep you in my life... Wait a second. Travers, Malfoy, put Harry’s furs back in our hut, will you?”

“Sure,” Draco agreed and the two left to give the other couple the necessary privacy.

“You’re welcome back,” Fenrir told Harry. “This is your home too, not just mine.”

Harry was silent for a long while, and Fenrir allowed him the time to process what he had said and to really grasp its meaning, to understand that his decision to transfer Harry to his godfathers had been temporary and never intended to do so much damage. Finally, Harry took a deep breath, rubbing a hand over his face.

“I kind of lost it there,” he admitted sheepishly. “Give me another moment.”

“Take as much time as you need,” Fenrir grumbled, patting Harry’s sable hair. “I don’t like to see you scared.”

Harry shook his head. “No, you had a right to be angry. I would have been angry, too, but when I got that letter from Voldemort, I was back in the war, in danger; I wasn’t thinking like... War always meant for me: obeying or giving orders. There was never time for discussions and last night, I wasn’t thinking of you as my lover, as the father of my child, you were just a civilian, I guess. But ... you had a right to know what was going on.”

“The right but also the duty,” Fenrir said, tilting Harry’s head up. “You’re my pack and it’s my job to take care of you.”

“The pay is lousy, though,” Harry muttered, and Fenrir grinned. “It’s not so bad since I have you to warm my bed.”

“I’m not paying you in sexual favours.” The black-haired man glared weakly at him.

“I know, you enjoy it too much for that,” Fenrir retorted. “Like I enjoy watching out for you. I **want** to know when you’re scared or hurt or in danger so that I can make it better. So can we agree that from now on you tell me if something is bothering you or if there’s some crazy bitch who wants to poison us?”

He gently butted his nose against Harry’s cheek, trying to lighten the seriousness of his request.

“What if I can’t?” Harry asked in a whisper. “It was drilled into me, Fen.”

“I understand that now, but I want you to try at least,” Fenrir compromised. “Will you try, beautiful human? Will you tell me when you’re hurt?”

Harry bit his bottom lip before meeting Fenrir’s eyes. “You hurt me.”

“I know,” Fenrir admitted, rubbing his thumbs over the dried tear tracks on Harry’s face.

“No.” Harry shook his head. “I mean that you hurt me physically. I think you broke my wrist.” He pushed up the right sleeve of his sweatshirt, showing his swollen, discoloured arm to the werewolf. “Maybe I should get it checked out?”

Fenrir pushed himself to his feet, cursing and growling while he paced, glancing time and time again at Harry’s injured arm. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“I just did,” Harry defended himself, drawing his knees up to his chest.

“And why didn’t you do so earlier?” Fenrir demanded. “Why haven’t you had that healed?”

“Excuse me if I was more occupied with being kicked out,” Harry murmured.

Fenrir stopped his pacing, abruptly crouching down in front of Harry with a mighty sigh. “That really got to you, little wolf, didn’t it?”

“I would have preferred two broken arms.” Harry whispered. “Broken bones mend and wounds heal, but if someone leaves they’re not coming back. I don’t want you to leave me.”

Fenrir pressed a kiss to Harry’s trembling lips. “I guess I can’t promise you to always come back, but I promise you to always try.”

Harry smiled carefully. “That’s enough for me and I’ll try not to keep information like that from you and to think of us more like a team. Okay?”

Fenrir nodded, but his gaze was fixed on Harry’s arm with something like disgust. “I’ll get Lestrange so that he can heal you.”

“Hey, wait.” Harry tugged gently on Fenrir’s hair. “I know that you didn’t mean to break my arm, Fen.”

“That’s just it,” Fenrir growled. “I didn’t even notice, I could have broken more than an arm and you wouldn’t even care that I was abusing you.”

“Don’t be stupid, wolfie,” Harry admonished him, pecking Fenrir’s cheek. “I’ve lived in an abusive household before so don’t you fool yourself into thinking I would hang around if I didn’t know you were good for me. I’m not afraid to be alone; I’m afraid to be without you.”

“I don’t see why you would,” Fenrir muttered.

Harry sighed, wrapping his hand around Fenrir’s wrist.

“I’d imagine for the same reason as you: because I love you.” He squeezed with all his might. “I think it’s a rather good reason and then there’s the fact – I’m not bothering you, am I?”

Fenrir furrowed his brow. “With what?”

Harry grinned, releasing his grip and shaking out his hand. “I couldn’t hurt you if I wanted to and you might hurt me, even if that’s not your intention. It’s okay, my big bad wolf. It makes me treasure your every touch because I realise how much thought you put into it. And in the same way, I appreciate every bruise because I’m much too proud to submit to a weaker man.”

“You call this submitting, you stupid little thing?” Fenrir grumbled, and Harry laughed, throwing his head back and exposing his pale throat. “Be careful, little human, or one day I might decide to make you submit for real.”

“And what would you gain from it?” Harry asked rhetorically, moving to straddle Fenrir’s lap. “I think you don’t want me all docile and devout... Right?”

“You’re perfect like this, my little wildfire,” Fenrir murmured reassuringly, surprised when Harry avoided his kiss.

“Then what was Lin doing in our hut last night?” Harry poked the werewolf in the chest and glared at him. “Damn, were you quick to replace me.”

Fenrir took a moment to study the angry flush on Harry’s cheeks, the scowl that marred his forehead and green eyes that seemed even brighter in the morning light before he barked out a laugh, much to Harry’s apparent indignation. “Jealous, my lovely wolf?”

Harry’s eyes narrowed and he made a sound of protest when Fenrir captured his head between his large hands and bent him in a forceful kiss before he could respond.

“Not quite what I had in mind,” Fenrir murmured, still impeding Harry’s movements. “But then again, I haven’t been an expert judging how you would take my behaviour, have I? There’s no need for you to feel threatened, silly little thing. Lin and I had a talk nothing more.”

“And what was so important that you had no time to talk to **me**?” Harry demanded.

“It was more that I had no mind to talk with you,” Fenrir corrected. “I thought that we should both calm down and think things over before facing off again.”

“You haven’t answered my question,” Harry observed, unconsciously nuzzling Fenrir’s hand.

Fenrir sighed, planting another kiss on Harry’s lips before answering, “Lin has been having – and creating – problems recently. It might do her some good to have a bit of distance from the pack - ”

“You’re kicking her out!” Harry exclaimed, alarmed. “You can’t kick her out! This is her home! She... I mean... It’s not her fault. She was here first; she has more of a right to stay here... than I do.”

“Stop it, little thing, we’re not going down that road again.” Fenrir shook Harry by the shoulders. “No one is losing his or her home, neither you nor Lin, and if you would listen to me from time to time instead of overreacting and panicking, you would know that. I merely gave her the option, made the suggestion to take a holiday, in the hopes of re-establishing harmony and giving her a new perspective.”

Harry bit his lip, glancing up at Fenrir, who sighed at the look of insecurity and doubt. “I talked with Marrock, who would be glad to introduce Lin to his pack. And who knows – she might even find a mate, something that won’t happen here.”

“Sawyer or Tristan...” Harry suggested, but Fenrir shook his head.

“Sawyer courted her for almost a year, but she always turned him down and finally, he had enough and gave up. And Tristan has his sights set on someone else.”

“Who?” Harry asked in surprise, looking around as if expecting to see a large advertisement.

Fenrir rolled his golden eyes. “Chetan, of course, he’s just biding his time until Chetan is ready to settle down.”

“But they hardly talk with each other!” Harry protested, trying to find something in their behaviour – a gesture, a smile, a touch that lingered a bit too long – to justify Fenrir’s contention, but finding nothing.

“They don’t need words.” Fenrir shrugged. “They’ve known each other for a lifetime and they know what they feel for each other.”

“But what if their feelings change?” Harry demanded. “What if Tristan tires of waiting?”

“They would undoubtedly have a talk then,” Fenrir said dryly. “Not all relationships have to be as complicated and full of misunderstanding as ours. Sometimes, I actually wonder why I had to choose the most traumatised and scarred inmate of Azkaban – even Travers is more stable than you, little moonlight.” He kissed Harry’s nose to show the younger man that he was joking.

“Because you’re superficial, and I’m better looking,” Harry suggested. “What if Lin doesn’t want to go on a vacation?”

“Then I guess both of you will have to make an effort to get along, won’t you? And not recently, my beautiful human, you look like shit and I don’t care for that defeated air you have adopted.”

“I had a bad night, okay?” Harry crossed his arms defensively. “You didn’t take it too well, either, when you thought I was cheating on you.”

“Do you remember that conversation we had about the smell of dead sheep or do I have to remind you how intoxicating you  
re to me?” Fenrir murmured, brushing his lips over Harry’s cheek. “I love you, small one. Is there something else you need me to say?”

Harry hesitated a moment, resting his head against Fenrir’s broad shoulder and gnawing his bottom lip. “I’m going to take a shower. Love you, too, wolfie.”

“What about your arm?” Fenrir demanded, stabilising Harry as he got up. “You need to get that healed.”

Harry shrugged. “I will, just that I want to take a shower first. It’ll make me feel better, and my arm can wait a little while longer. I’ll be careful.”

“Of course you will because I’ll make sure of it,” the werewolf answered, taking Harry by the hand.

He also helped Harry out of his clothes, paying special attention not to jostle Harry’s arm and to keep in body contact with his lover. While Harry was adjusting his wand and spelled the ground water-proof, Fenrir stripped off his own jeans before stepping under the spray of water, moulding himself against Harry’s back and kissing his neck. Harry turned around in the circle of his arms, lifting to his tip-toes to press a kiss to the werewolf’s lips and then to open his mouth to Fenrir’s answering kiss. Fenrir’s rough fingertips caressed tenderly over Harry’s back, his sides, rubbing soothing circles on Harry’s hips before they disappeared between Harry’s legs.

“Put your arm on my shoulder,” Fenrir ordered while he slipped two fingers into his lover in quick succession and scissored them carefully. “I’ll mind your stomach, you mind your arm.”

Harry nodded and did as told, cautiously placing his broken arm on Fenrir’s shoulder and grasping Fenrir’s neck with his other hand. As a reward, Fenrir brushed his lips over Harry’s, licking the seam of the soft, pink lips until they parted for him. While his mouth wandered down Harry’s throat, cherishing the velvety skin all the more now that he had once again permission to kiss and lick and nibble, he pushed a third finger into his lover’s small body.

Harry arched with a suppressed mewl and he sent the older man a come-hither look before his eyes lidded in pleasure. A deep growl rumbled up in Fenrir’s chest, and he eagerly crooked and twisted his fingers a few more times before withdrawing them, grasping Harry’s firm, little butt and lifting him up so that he could push himself into the younger man. Harry keened, wrapping his legs around Fenrir’s waist to give their position a bit more stability as the werewolf thrust into him while peppering kisses over his face and neck and growling endearments and praise in his ear.

He soon felt warm wetness coat his insides as Fenrir howled his release into his ear, held him close for a few long moments and then carefully set him down, wrapping his hand around Harry’s arousal and stroking leisurely. Harry groaned, resting his hot cheek against Fenrir’s wet chest while the warm water caressed over his back and Fenrir’s calloused palm lead him to completion.

“No second go?” Harry asked in surprise when Fenrir squeezed some soap into his hand and began to lather his lover’s body.

“Later, after you got your arm fixed,” Fenrir answered before kissing Harry. “This was merely for reassurance.”

“Maybe I needed that,” Harry admitted, and Fenrir chuckled.

“That’s what I thought, my little moonlight,” the werewolf murmured, rinsing off the suds and then quickly washing himself before helping Harry into his clothes again. “Come on, let’s get you settled and then I’ll go get Lestrange.”

“Fen...” Harry bit his lip, looking up at his partner. “Could you maybe send someone else? I... I don’t want to be alone.”

Fenrir pressed a kiss to Harry’s forehead. “Sure thing. Want to stay outside by the fire? Is it warm enough for you?”

Harry nodded, smiling in relief, and sat down close to the fire, next to the rest of the pack, Draco and David, who had all gathered to have breakfast and make plans for the day. Fenrir sat down behind him, wrapping his arms around Harry’s waist for additional warmth.

“Harry needs a healer,” Fenrir declared. “Malfoy, go get Lestrange.”

“Please,” Harry added, sending Fenrir a half amused, half annoyed glare for ordering Draco around.

“Exactly,” Fenrir said dryly. “Get moving; Harry’s arm won’t heal by itself.”

Draco looked ready to protest or ask something, but David squeezed his hand and the blond stood up obediently, breathed a kiss over the older man’s knuckles and strode towards the portal.

“What happened to your arm?” Remus asked softly.

“I broke it,” Fenrir said gruffly before Harry could find a more diplomatic answer.

“Not on purpose,” Harry insisted, leaning into Fenrir until the werewolf tucked his head under his own chin and rubbed lightly over Harry’s uninjured arm. “Can we not talk about this?”

“You were rather out of it earlier,” David commented.

“About none of it,” Harry clarified, smiling at the older man. “But I’m glad you came.”

“Draco got you another book from his family library.” David reached into his robe, extracting a thick tome and handing it to Harry.

Fenrir turned to Maya. “Harry needs to eat something.”

“I was going to make pancakes,” the motherly werewolf informed them. “Is that okay for you, Harry?”

“I’m not that hungry,” Harry murmured, before quickly backtracking when Fenrir growled. “But those pancakes sound delicious.”

“I’m glad you’re developing an appetite,” Rudolphus announced his presence though Harry had the feeling that the others had noticed him already and crouched down in front of Harry. “May I see your arm, Mr. Potter?”

Harry obediently held out his arm, gritting his teeth when the healer carefully rolled back his sleeve and prodded his wrist with his wand. Fenrir growled.

“When did you sustain this injury?” Rudolphus asked.

“Last night,” Harry mumbled, grinning when Fenrir placed a kiss on his temple. “You can heal that, can’t you, Healer?”

“Of course, but adjusting the bones might be slightly more painful now than it would have been immediately after it happened,” Rudolphus warned him, and Fenrir’s arm tightened around his waist. “Ready?”

“Sure,” Harry answered.

The healer tapped his wand against Harry’s wrist, muttering a spell under his breath. But instead of the expected healing effect, he snapped his hand away with an uncharacteristic curse.

“What is it?” Fenrir growled, hiding Harry in his arms and shielding him with his body. “What have you done?”

“Mr. Potter’s magic blocked me,” the healer answered before turning to the man in question. “Is there something I did to attract your anger, Mr. Potter? If so, please accept my apologies.”

“No.” Harry shook his head. “Just nervous energy, I guess. I didn’t mean to zap you, healer. I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”

“My reaction was more due to shock, do not worry, Mr. Potter,” Rudolphus answered gently. “Though, I cannot heal you if you don’t allow it - consciously or subconsciously.”

Harry sighed, nodding his head in understanding.

“Little one, tell me what’s wrong. I can help you,” Fenrir demanded, butting his nose against the younger man’s cheek. “I thought we were okay again. What is it?”

“It’s nothing. Don’t worry.”

“Harry - ”

Harry shook his head, his eyes squeezed shut tightly. “No, just no, Fen.”

Fenrir grunted, studying Harry’s drawn face and gliding his fingertips over the young wizard’s throat. “Your arm needs to be healed, moonlight.”

“Yeah, I’ll try to relax,” Harry mumbled, grateful to hear Fenrir’s sigh and then his regular, strong breathing in his ear while gentle fingers skimmed over his side.

No, he didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t want to explain. Hadn’t they talked enough? And what was there to explain? Should he tell Fenrir that he still felt insecure and anxious because this was Fenrir’s life, Fenrir’s family, Fenrir’s home and he was merely a guest, albeit a well-liked one? Or that it felt like betrayal that not even his magic was responding to his wishes, out of control like the rest of his life? Or maybe that he was scared shitless at the prospect of becoming a parent or at least of having a child because becoming a parent was something he wasn’t sure he could do? And how would that help? Fenrir would undoubtedly try to reassure him and be kind and perfect and feel bad on the inside until Harry said that he was okay again. But fact was that he wouldn’t be. Harry couldn’t just turn off his past, couldn’t forget how many people he had lost, how many people had left him, couldn’t forget the constant sense of panic, of danger, of having to sacrifice himself for the greater good. So why should he worry Fenrir or hurt his feelings? It wouldn’t change anything.

He leaned comfortably back into the werewolf, trying to calm his breathing and match Fenrir’s rhythm, trying to lose tension with every exhalation, trying to relax his muscles and control his magic. After a few minutes he grew frustrated.

“It’s not working!” he exclaimed angrily, the fire in front of him sparking up high.

“Relaxation is not something that works,” Rudolphus stated wisely. “It happens. There’s no hurry, Mr. Potter. Take your time.”

“I don’t want to fucking take my time,” Harry hissed before deflating visibly. “I just want to relax.”

“Harry, how about we go for a walk and maybe we can work off a bit of your stress and magic?” David suggested, shrinking slightly when all eyes turned on him. “In my experience, it’s easier to just vent your anger.”

“Thanks, but I’m not sure duelling is such a good idea,” Harry murmured, resting a hand on his stomach.

“Actually, I don’t see a problem as long as you’re careful,” Rudolphus offered. “I know that David is an excellent duellist and I trust that he will be able to fight without hurting you.”

“If you’re not comfortable with duelling we can always blow up some rocks or boulders,” David suggested, standing up with a small wince as his old injury protested. “Come, Patronus.”

He held out his hand, pulling Harry to his feet.

Fenrir bared his teeth. “Watch out for my little one. And I mean watch and not touch.”

David didn’t answer, already walking into the forest.

Harry hesitated, turning to Fenrir and meeting his eyes timidly. “You’ll still be here when I’ll come back, won’t you?”

“Of course, stupid little wolf. I’ll be waiting,” Fenrir assured him.

Harry nodded before following David, who was waiting for him not far away. Harry fell into step with him.

“Do you have some place in mind?”

“A bit further is a clearing,” Harry mumbled. “I’m not really up for a long walk.”

David nodded. “If you need to lean on me, it’s no problem. Or we can just stay here.”

“I need to get away.” Harry ducked under a low hanging branch, cursing under his breath when he felt slightly dizzy. “David...”

The Death Eater hummed to show that he was listening before he sat down on a fallen tree trunk.

Harry took a seat next to him, sighing deeply. “I really thought Fenrir had washed his hands clean off me.”

“Why?” David asked. “You must know that he loves you and is crazy about you being pregnant.” Harry shook his head, biting his lip. “Even I see that, Harry, and I lost those rose-tinted glasses a long time ago.”

“He says so,” Harry murmured, fiddling with the sleeves of his sweater. “And I want to believe him, but I don’t understand why he would and I’m just... so scared that if I fuck up, he’ll realise that he really doesn’t.”

David sighed, running his hands through his grey hair.

“Don’t you want to say something reassuring or at least something completely false?” Harry asked after a while.

“I’m afraid neither of us is still naive enough to believe in happily ever after,” David replied dryly.

“Maybe,” Harry admitted self-deprecatingly. “But I guess, I still want that, even if it’s stupid. You know, a happy home, a secure relationship, a loving family.”

“Can’t say I understand that,” David murmured. “Happiness and security, yes, but I’m still on bad terms with love.”

“But you and Draco are still together, aren’t you?” Harry looked at him with worry. “You’re happy?”

David grimaced, glancing at him. “Yes, we’re happy, and he undoubtedly thinks that he loves me. But he’s young and impulsive, and I’m unstable at the best of times. We’re both still learning, about each other, about ourselves and in my case, learning if I’m still capable of feeling something like love. I guess the best we can hope for is that we decide to part ways at about the same time.”

“Wow, now I’m depressed,” Harry muttered.

“Well, I’m not saying that it has to end this way for every couple. Your godfathers seem to be remarkably perfect.” David offered, nudging his leg against Harry’s. “But for us, it might be more prudent to enjoy the present and not to have high expectations.”

Harry sighed. “I can’t help it, and I have high expectations for you and Draco as well.”

David chuckled. “Thanks, I appreciate it. If it helps, I think Greyback has them as well.”

“Not really.” Harry grimaced. “That’s part of the problem.”

“Well, since I only seem to make it worse, is there another problem? What is going on with your magic?”

Harry groaned, resting his head on his knees. “I guess I haven’t used enough of it, because I have to take it easy and Fenrir is watching me like a hawk – or like an overprotective werewolf - and it’s getting restless.”

“Want to blow something up?” David asked, and Harry nodded, getting to his feet. “Then go ahead, I’ll repair the damage.”


	45. Knowing One's Place

Fenrir breathed a sigh of relief when after half an hour the sound of explosions and muted screams abated. Soon after, David followed by his Harry reappeared at the edge of the clearing and walked towards them. He stood up immediately, burying his nose in Harry’s wild hair when the young man moved into his arms without hesitation.

“Love you,” he murmured, and Harry grinned up at him before looking over his shoulder at David.

“I think you were right, the present isn’t half bad.” He lifted on his tiptoes to press a kiss to Fenrir’s lips. “Do too, wolfie.”

The werewolf cupped the small face of his lover between his hands, studying the once more calm green depths of his eyes. “Feeling better, my little moonlight?”

Harry nodded, slinging his good arm around Fenrir’s waist and peering up at him through dark lashes, while licking his lips.

“Trying to seduce me, small thing?” Fenrir murmured with amusement. “Not before your arm is healed. Ready for that?”

The older man didn’t wait for a reply, instead carefully sitting Harry down and offering his broken arm to the healer, who had waited patiently for him to return and now healed his arm in the matter of half a minute. Harry only winced and bit his lip, but otherwise showed no sign of pain though Fenrir growled testily and tightened his arms around Harry.

“Would you like me to give you a check up as well, Mr. Potter?” Rudolphus offered while Fenrir inspected Harry’s healed arm, reverently caressing the soft white skin.

Harry smiled, entwining his fingers with Fenrir’s. “Yeah, that’d be great.”

Rudolphus ran his wand over Harry’s body, circling it slowly to make the ultrasonic screen appear while he studied the runes and numbers that glimmered in the air. Fenrir meanwhile looked at the screen, glancing briefly at the baby’s numbers that glowed a healthy green before turning to Harry’s, which were, as expected more orange than yellow. He growled, and Harry glanced up at him, rolling his eyes good-naturedly.

“Have you taken the Nutrient Potion I have given you, Mr. Potter?” Rudolphus asked.

“I usually take it after dinner,” Harry answered honestly. “But yesterday I forgot.”

“May I recommend that you take it today after breakfast?” Rudolphus said with a reassuring smile. “Your baby is in optimal health and growing as expected, but I don’t think I have to tell you that your health is a whole other story.”

“Look, Healer, I appreciate your help,” Harry answered, cutting off Fenrir. “For my son. But my health has never been the best, and I’m used to balancing it with my magic.”

“Harry - ” Fenrir protested, but Harry put his finger to the werewolf’s lips to silence him.

“I can’t change that now and I’m not willing to waste valuable energy trying. Please, understand, wolfie. You said I’m damaged, well, so is my health.”

Fenrir grumbled. “You idiotic little human, you really think I’m going to accept that? Forget it.”

Harry scowled ferociously at him. “What happened to wanting to support me, Fen?”

The werewolf snorted. “Allowing you to jeopardise your health is not supporting you.”

The younger man’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and he pushed hard against Fenrir’s chest, glowering at the older man. “And stressing me is? Merlin, Fen, relax, will you. I’m not dying and I don’t plan to, but I might murder you if you don’t stop being such a fucking worrywart.”

A growl rumbled up in Fenrir’s chest, and he bared his teeth. Harry arched an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest.

“What’re you going to do now, wolfie?” Harry mocked. “Your usual methods of intimidation are at best counterproductive...” He leaned close again, rubbing his nose up and down Fenrir’s cheek before gently kissing him. “Come on now, my Alpha, let me have my way and I won’t let you regret it.”

Fenrir still frowned though he cocked his head slightly to the side to accommodate Harry, who was now exploring his Adam’s apple with his tongue and lips. “I already do.”

Harry laughed, his eyes warm and teasing and his body pliant when Fenrir pulled him to his chest to nuzzle his temple and cheek.

“Let me remedy that,” Harry demanded, closing his eyes blissfully when Fenrir started to suckle on his yaw. “Fen...”

“As receptible as I usually am to your charm and your bribery, this isn’t going to work,” Fenrir murmured gently.

“It was worth a try, wasn’t it?” Harry asked hopefully, and Fenrir laughed.

“Of course, my little wolf.”

“Can you just try to ease up a **little**?” Harry pleaded. “This whole worrying-thing is driving me insane, and I’m doing better already, right?”

Fenrir thought for a moment, studying Harry intently. “Fine, but only as long as your numbers stay at least yellow.”

Harry grinned, throwing himself into Fenrir’s arms so that the werewolf had to let himself be pushed back over to cushion the younger man’s impact. The black-haired wizard laughed happily, pressing kiss after kiss to Fenrir’s lips.

“Little thing, our deal doesn’t include that you get to skip your check-ups,” the werewolf admonished in amusement, helping a pouting Harry to sit up and to turn around again. “Later.”

Harry nodded reluctantly before smiling apologetically at Rudolphus. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you have better things to do.”

“I do not mind, Mr. Potter,” the healer said calmly, freeing Harry’s stomach from his sweater. “I will now check the position of your child and do a scan to make sure your abdominal organs are doing their job.”

The healer rested his hands against Harry’s belly, slowly moving them around as his magic merged with Harry’s, using the additional support to give Harry a thorough examination. The baby’s heart beat was strong and regular, the fingers and toes had completely formed and the bones were beginning to harden.

“When is the full moon?” Rudolphus asked, allowing Harry to get dressed again.

“Tomorrow night,” Chetan offered. “Why, is there a problem?”

“Not necessarily. The baby is developing healthily and would have a rather good chance of survival in case of an early delivery,” the healer was mostly speaking to Harry, though he met Fenrir’s eyes from time to time. “Given how stressful the full moons are for you, the risk of a miscarriage is considerable and should you go into labour in your wolf form, I will not be able to help you. Thus, it might be advisable to get the baby before that.”

Harry bit his lip, glancing up at Fenrir before turning back to the healer. “When you say ‘rather good chance of survival’ what does that mean exactly?”

“About fifty percent,” the healer admitted. “However, you should consider it.”

“We will think about it,” Harry murmured, shivering at the thought of losing his baby and pressing into Fenrir. “What will happen in the next months of pregnancy? If you deliver the baby now, what are the complications?”

“In the third trimester the baby will gain weight, the so called baby fat which will help him to keep warm and regulate his temperature once your son is born. Of some concern is the lung activity and we might have to keep the baby in an incubator for at least a couple of weeks, simulating the conditions in the womb. We would have to use some spells and administer complementary potions to prevent long-term complications.”

“Harry hasn’t gone into premature labour so far, what makes you think this full moon will be different?” Fenrir demanded, kissing Harry’s temple.

“Generally speaking, male pregnancies are riskier than female ones. Add to that Mr. Potter’s age, his poor health and underweight and the stress he has suffered and the risk of going into labour prematurely increases,” Rudolphus explained. “Mr. Potter was in danger of having a miscarriage from the very beginning, as I believe I told you before. The baby is developing very favourably and in my opinion, attempting to carry this child to full term poses more risks than advantages. Especially for Mr. Potter.”

Fenrir grumbled, taking Harry’s hand and kissing his fingertips. “What do you think, little one?”

“Fifty percent isn’t exactly encouraging,” Harry whispered. “And I think you’re forgetting something, Healer: If you do the C-section today or tomorrow, my son will still turn into a werewolf on the full moon, without my protection and when his health will already be on the line. I don’t like this idea, Fen, I really don’t.”

“Shh, sweet wolf, I won’t force you,” Fenrir promised before staring at the healer. “What can we do instead?”

The healer furrowed his brow. “If that is your decision, I will prescribe a potion to prevent him going into labour. I will be on call and should it come to it, I would suggest sedating the baby so that Mr. Potter can turn into his human form for the delivery.”

Harry nodded a little shakily, startling when Fenrir spoke up. “Sounds like an acceptable back-up plan. And Harry is right that getting the baby now will not leave us enough time to stabilise him. How about we think about it some more after the full moon, beautiful wolf?”

“Okay,” Harry murmured, snuggling into the werewolf’s protective embrace. “Thank you.”

Fenrir merely grunted before kissing Harry once more. “You need to eat now.”

“Alright,” Harry agreed, sitting up slightly. “Can I have ice cream with my pancakes?”

Fenrir grinned, giving Remus a sign to get Harry’s food, while Maya heaped pancakes on a plate and then handed it to Fenrir, who in turn gave it to Harry. While Maya continued dishing out food, Remus returned with an assortment of colourful boxes, setting them down in front of Harry, who unerringly chose ice creams with chocolate, pistachio and cherry flavour.

“Something the matter?” Fenrir grumbled because Harry didn’t start eating after he had mixed all flavours to an unappetising mess.

“Can I have applesauce as well?” Harry asked hopefully.

“I’ll go,” Chetan offered before Remus could get up again.

“And chocolate sprinkles,” Harry called after him. “And whipped cream, and – I think I’ll come with you.”

Chetan grinned, extending his hand to Harry. “Hungry today?”

Harry shrugged with a light blush. “I just feel like eating that stuff. Oh, peanuts! Get them down for me, will you, Chetan?”

Harry pointed to the top shelf before gathering the applesauce and cream.

“Those are salted, are you sure you want them?” Chetan asked, though he already reached for the nuts.

Harry hummed, searching the shelves for something else, what he wasn’t sure. His eyes lit up as he spied a cucumber, almost hidden behind a large head of lettuce. He stumbled slightly in his haste to get to it and Chetan darted out an arm to catch him.

“Let me get that for you.” Chetan chuckled, taking the vegetable. “Do you have everything? Then let’s go. I guess that answers the question if you have food cravings yet.”

Harry stopped, but then a huge grin spread over his face. “You’re right. It’s great. I’m finally getting to the fun part. I have to tell Fen.”

He pushed past the werewolf and bounced over to Fenrir, dropping unceremoniously in his lap and a kiss on the surprised man’s lips. “I’m having food cravings!”

“Oh,” Fenrir furrowed his brow. “And you are... happy?”

“Damn right I am,” Harry exclaimed joyously. “No more morning sickness and instead I can eat gross stuff and mixtures that normally would turn my stomach. It’s fantastic!”

“Good,” Fenrir grumbled, returning Harry’s kiss. “How about you eat now and if you want something else one of us will get it for you?”

Harry nodded, filling his pancakes with various mixtures before slowly but surely eating, though not all at least a fair bit. After the meal, Fenrir suggested going for a walk, but since Harry didn’t really feel up to it, they stayed seated around the fire, simply talking. Even Rudolphus remained for close to an hour and after a bit of prompting, he told them about the progress his brother had made in his recovery.

Fenrir was wrapped around him and Harry felt kind of sleepy, his eyes drooping whenever there was a slight lull in the conversation, though Sirius’ vivacious nature and Draco’s education never allowed the pauses to grow too lengthy.

ö_ö_ö

“Thank you for coming today.” Harry hugged Draco tightly. “And thanks for the book.”

“I have to thank you for the great day,” the blond replied earnestly. “If you need anything, please, have no scruples calling me.”

“We’ll be in the healer’s ward tomorrow night,” David added, opening his arms for Harry. “Just in case.”

“Thank you,” Harry said again, smiling softly. “But I think it will be alright. I’m feeling strangely peaceful.”

David grimaced, a real grimace this time not a grimace that passed for a smile. “They say death is peaceful so I don’t find that very encouraging. I’d rather you felt nervous.”

“Well, I’ll endeavour to raise my level of anxiety if it’ll make you feel better.” Harry laughed before lowering his head. “Besides, I doubt that dying is so peaceful.”

“Try not to find out, little wolf,” Fenrir interrupted gruffly. “We’ll send Hedwig to you after the full moon, and now Harry needs rest.”

Draco and David nodded in understanding and soon after left for Voldemort’s castle. Harry turned in Fenrir’s loose embrace, drinking in the werewolf’s strong features and lifting for a timid kiss. Fenrir grumbled, scooping the young man up and carrying him over to their hut where he put him down on their furs with the utmost care. The werewolf lay down next to his small Animagus, pulling Harry loosely against his chest. Harry hummed happily when he felt rough, plump lips on his neck.

“You tired?”

“A little,” Harry admitted. “Do you want to go to our clearing?”

“I had planned that,” Fenrir murmured, tracing Harry’s hairline. “And I was rather looking forward to you making amends and me shamelessly taking advantage of that, but I think we’ll do that another time.”

“No sex?” Harry sounded scandalised, half sitting up to peer into Fenrir’s face. “I have every intention to have sex with you and I’d enjoy it a hell of a lot more if you were cooperative.”

Fenrir grinned, capturing Harry’s hand and brushing a kiss over the fragile knuckles. “You have my full cooperation, sweet wizard.”

“Good,” Harry stated, skidding a little lower and trailing kisses over Fenrir’s chest. “I was thinking I could give you a blowjob for starters and then I might be open for your suggestions, my Alpha.”

The silver-haired man grumbled in pleasure, burying his hand in Harry’s sable hair as a small pink tongue darted out to lick a wet stripe along the waist band of his jeans and nibble fingers unbuttoned and unzipped said garment. He obediently lifted his hips when Harry started to tug on his jeans so that they slipped over his hips and down his thighs, over his knees and to his ankles. He kicked them off while Harry’s hand wrapped around the base of his already half-hard cock possessively.

Harry’s breath ghosted over his heated flesh and his lips brushed over the velvety skin of Fenrir’s hard length. The werewolf growled, thrusting up and Harry drew back immediately, digging his fingers into the older man’s hips in a clear warning before he turned back to kissing along Fenrir’s shaft, licking and nibbling. Fenrir was almost ready to risk another thrust to get Harry to stop teasing him when Harry finally fastened his little mouth around the head of his cock. The younger man started to suckle lightly but with determination while he fondled the heavy balls and massaged and stroked the part of his cock not encased by the tight heat of Harry’s mouth.

His hands fisted in Harry’s wild hair, surely uncomfortable for the younger man if not outright painful, even though Fenrir was trying to restrain himself. For once, Harry didn’t complain. Instead he followed Fenrir’s harsh tugs, gave into the pressure, swallowed more of Fenrir’s hard length and hummed contentedly when the werewolf’s grip slackened.

Fenrir wanted to keep his eyes open, wanted to drink in the sight of Harry between his legs, obedient and compliant. Almost submissive, almost bent to his will, almost completely his. Almost. But too many sensations were clamouring for his attention, and his eyelids grew heavy as if to prevent an overload, an overdose of Harry.

It didn’t take long after that for his orgasm to crash over him. His hands tightened in Harry’s hair again, and he thrust up, forcing Harry to swallow his semen. The black-haired man obeyed and when Fenrir came down from his climax and relaxed his hold, Harry drew back, licked his lips and rested his cheek on Fenrir’s abdomen.

Fenrir sighed, looking down at Harry and finding Harry looking back at him.

“Any suggestions now?” Harry demanded, but to Fenrir he sounded already rather sleepy.

“I could always return the favour,” Fenrir offered, grasping Harry by the shoulders and pulling him up so that the wizard was resting on his chest. “Or I could just hold you in my arms while you drift off to sleep.”

Harry blinked up at him, carefully observing the older man’s mimic before he answered. “You can hold me later, but first I want to feel you so deep inside of me that I’ll be sore tomorrow.”

“I can do that,” Fenrir declared confidently, and Harry laughed.

“Then prove it, my big, bad wolf,” Harry challenged, already wiggling out of his jeans.

Soon after, he had looped his fingers under the elastic of his boxers and moments later he was already dedicating his attention to getting rid of his sweater and t-shirt. And then, he was in the nude, and Fenrir had to catch his breath.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured; Harry rolled his eyes.

It wasn’t quite the reaction he had hoped for, but then again, Harry skimming his fingers around his own nipples, stroking over his belly and sucking them into his mouth was much too distracting a sight as that he could be disappointed for too long. With surprising grace, considering the astounding circumference of his middle, Harry lay down on the soft furs, spreading his legs and drawing up one knee, and continued the exploration of his body with his fingers, sending Fenrir coy and all together much too innocent looks. When one of his hands rubbed over his hipbone and then moved to grasp his growing arousal, Fenrir batted it away, capturing Harry’s wrists in one hand, closing his other around the green-eyed man’s erection and swiped his tongue over Harry’s chest up to his throat.

Harry shuddered, arching up against the muscular body hovering above him. When Fenrir gently suckled on the white skin, still careful not to let Harry feel any teeth, Harry moaned, trashing around and twisting against the werewolf’s hold. Fenrir was quick to pin and immobilise the younger man once again before he charily turned Harry on his side, kissing the sharp shoulder blades as he slipped behind his lover.

Harry obediently moved his upper leg forward when Fenrir pushed a finger into him, and the werewolf grumbled happily in Harry’s ear and kissed his cheekbone, rubbing his stubbled beard against Harry’s smooth skin. The young man giggled, though his breath hitched when a second finger joined Fenrir’s first.

“Fen, don’t be a tease.” Harry panted, pushing back against his lover. “I want you inside me.”

“Do you think this the right time to get demanding, little impatient one?” Fenrir mocked gently, trailing his lips to the nape of Harry’s neck. “I know you can do better than that. You’re so pretty when you beg...”

Harry whimpered in loss when Fenrir’s fingers withdrew all together and the werewolf made no move to replace them with something larger; instead he only rained lazy kisses over Harry’s back. “Please...”

“What was that, lovely wolf?” Fenrir asked nonchalantly.

“Please,” Harry repeated, almost sobbing with all his nerve-endings waiting for that liberating touch that would tumble him over the edge. “I need you, please...”

With a roar, Fenrir pushed into his lover, feeling the tight walls giving way to him, accommodating him, welcoming him. He cradled the smaller man, holding him secure as he slowly pushed in and out of him, feathered kisses over his neck, murmured encouragements and gentle taunts in Harry’s ear and finally stroked him to completion, followed the black-haired Animagus’ example only moments later.

Harry slumped in his arms, his sweaty brow pressed against Fenrir’s muscular upper arm. Carefully, he slipped out of his lover, quickly checked that he hadn’t hurt him and then started to lick Harry clean.

“Wolfie, that tickles,” Harry murmured, running his hands through Fenrir’s silver hair. “Are you going to hold me now?”

Fenrir grumbled, administering another long swipe to Harry’s abdomen before he tucked a fur and himself around the pale youth.

“Are you sure about tomorrow?” Fenrir asked gently, not wanting to give Harry the impression that he wasn’t supporting his decision, but also needing him to know that he would support another solution.

Harry turned around to look at him, his eyes open and for a moment at least vulnerable and full of fear. “I know the risks, Fen, but I think our son has a better chance of survival inside my belly and as long as I have a choice I will always choose to protect my son. I couldn’t trade his life for mine. I’m not like Hermione.”

Fenrir grumbled, kissing Harry possessively. “I know, little moonlight. I just wanted to make sure because I love you and I don’t want to lose you. You’re everything she was not.”

“Was,” Harry whispered, feeling the sudden urge to cry and burying his face against Fenrir’s chest.

“Didn’t you ask one of your little friends about her?” Fenrir asked in surprise.

“I didn’t think you’d want me to,” Harry shrugged, smiling wryly. “Though, I’ll write Tom and ask him to give her a proper funeral.”

“Whatever for?” Fenrir demanded incredulously. “She tried to kill you. Good riddance to her, that’s what I’d say.”

“I’m well aware of that fact and of your opinion,” Harry replied primly before sighing. “For half a decade she was one of my best friends, Fen. She and Ron were the first family I ever knew and I would have done anything for them, and now you all expect me to throw that all away and be happy that I lost her as well? Wolfie, my feelings are all over the place as it is so please, don’t ask me to hate her.”

“I’m not,” Fenrir murmured. “But she’s certainly been asking for it, don’t you think?”

Harry snorted, nuzzling the light fur on Fenrir’s chest. “I’m not denying it. I just wished it hadn’t ended like that. If that makes me a fool, so be it. I’m not the one who has to live with me.”

He grinned cheekily up at the older man, who rolled his eyes and grumbled, tucking the unruly mop of dark hair under his chin. Harry relaxed, closing his eyes and breathing in Fenrir’s familiar, wild scent, feeling the strong arms surrounding him, sheltering him from the outside world and at least some of his fears. He gasped softly when his son thought to interrupt the peaceful moment with a swift kick to his abdomen.

“Harry?” Fenrir asked, clearly alarmed.

“Calm down.” Harry grasped Fenrir’s hand, placing it on his stomach and guiding it to the spot where he now felt another few punches and kicks. “Your son just decided not to grant me a wink of sleep.”

“So, now suddenly he’s my son, hm?” Fenrir mocked, but rubbed soothing circles on Harry’s taut skin. “Just breathe and it’ll be alright.”

Harry glared at him. “That’s easy for you to say, you won’t be kept awake the whole night from someone wreaking havoc in your belly.”

“The whole night? Aren’t you exaggerating a little?” Fenrir demanded, raising his hands in a placating manner when Harry hissed testily. “Okay, point taken. He’s grounded.”

Harry beamed at him, the grin lightening up his face even in the darkness of their hut, and he snuggled back into the werewolf. Despite his declaration, however, he soon drifted off to sleep, though he startled awake more than once when his baby kicked and Fenrir was always there with a gentle kiss, a soothing murmur or a few strokes of his hand.

ö_ö_ö

Fenrir growled softly when the little white wolf nudged his throat, grinning up at him from between his legs. He gently bit down on Harry’s neck, pushing him down in an attempt to make him settle down, the healer’s instructions still ringing clear even in his wolfish mind: Lots of sleep. As little movement as possible. And absolutely no stress. Sadly it seemed that Harry had a different perception of what was keeping still, and whenever Fenrir had managed to pin him down, Harry would wriggle and whine until Fenrir let up again.

He licked over Harry’s nose, staring into the deep, dark-rimmed eyes and trying to convey his meaning. Harry yipped questioningly, once again attempting to get up and growling angrily when Fenrir wouldn’t allow it. Instead, the werewolf tapped his nose against Harry’s stomach, sighing mentally when Harry slumped and his eyes hooded in disappointed understanding.

Fenrir carefully lay down next to Harry, resting his head on Harry’s small shoulders. The other werewolves, plus Sirius, were romping around them, tussling and snapping for ankles, ears and tails, growling playfully, ducking, jumping, running. He had missed that. It was peaceful and it took away a bit of the edge he had been feeling. Of course, Harry’s condition filed it even sharper and added a few spikes for extra pleasure.

Harry shifted against him, kicking his feet a little and thumping his tail in what Fenrir interpreted as an act of defiance. This would be a long night, especially as he wanted nothing more than to run around with his pack, stretch his limbs before they fell completely asleep and feel the thrill of a good hunt. But out of a sense of loyalty he would stay at Harry’s side and since Harry wasn’t allowed to move around, neither was he because without a doubt Harry deserved his support.

He was just about to settle in for a long night of keeping Harry company, staring only with mild interest at Sirius and Lin, who were stalking around each other, growling deeply with their hackles raised, when Harry struggled up again, barking angrily at Lin and inserting himself between the female werewolf and his godfather. Lin bared her teeth, ducking low while Sirius tried to nudge his godson out of the way.

Lin used his distraction and with a snarl and a stretch of her long body she impaled her incisors in Sirius’ neck. The Animagus yowled pitifully before twisting and batting her with his paws, still considerate of the small white wolf beside him. Lin, who had no such concerns, pushed Harry rudely aside in an attempt to get better leverage. Harry stumbled and went to the ground with a small whimper but picked himself up and sank his teeth into Lin’s hind leg, trying to pull her away from Sirius. Lin snapped for him, her incisors grazing Harry’s cheek.

Fenrir catapulted himself to his feet, tearing Lin away from his little white one in the matter of seconds and forcing her into submission. He growled at her for good measure, pushing down on her with all his considerable weight before he turned to Harry, who was surrounded by the rest of his pack. They made room for him when he approached.

He sniffed the younger wolf, licking over the bleeding cut on his cheek and grumbling soothingly. Harry glared at him with clear reproach, fighting to his feet and Fenrir had to stop him before he could start licking Sirius’ wounds. Harry growled at him, and he growled back, drawing back his flews in a menacing snarl, which at least earned him a slightly confused look and a questioning yip.

Fenrir almost rolled his eyes, but stopped himself just in time instead butting his nose against Harry’s and then gently tugged on one black-tipped ear. The white wolf growled testily at him, swiped for Fenrir’s face with his front paw and rolled away from him, though he didn’t get too far before Fenrir captured him again. The werewolf did his best to herd Harry as quickly and as unobtrusively as possible to a tall tree and then made sure to obstruct Harry’s view while also keeping a good hold of him.

Harry wouldn’t like this, but Lin had challenged Sirius to pass on her unfavourable position as the Omega. Sirius had accepted, had decided to fight instead of quietly stepping down, and so by all rights, they would fight to find out who was to be ranked higher. Harry wouldn’t understand. Of course he wouldn’t because he couldn’t see how such gruesome methods would be able to settle things and because, evidently, he was worried for his godfather. Fenrir was more worried about Lin, but that was beside the point.

The growls and snarls started up again, followed shortly by the pounding of paws that dug deep into the hard ground, the crash of two heavy bodies, sharp teeth, tender flesh, the scent of blood. Finally a victorious howl and Fenrir dared to let up on his struggling little one, not surprised at all when Harry snapped at him before slipping past him. _Of course, it was his fault again, wasn’t it?_

He followed Harry more slowly, observing closely as Remus and Harry tended to Sirius’ wounds as best as they could while Maya did the same for Lin, who had lain down a bit to the side to show that she had lost. He moved over to her, gently butting his nose against her cheek, knowing that her confidence and pride had taken another blow and fearing what that would do to her. She whimpered softly, and Fenrir gave a mental sigh. It would have been better if Sirius hadn’t won, if he had allowed her to rise a little in the hierarchy. It would have appeased her, made her feel that she still had a place in the pack, that no one was trying to push her out. Maybe it would have re-established harmony in his pack and mollified her resentment towards Harry. But it was too late now.

Looking into her eyes, he saw the same realisation there. In the morning, he would talk to her about taking that vacation with Marrock’s pack and though a large part of him baulked at the thought of giving up on one of his pack, even if only temporary, there was not much else he could do and nothing he hadn’t tried yet. He almost wished back for the old times when his life had been simple, when everybody knew his or her place and when unnecessary tensions were kept at a minimum. But then that would also mean a life without Harry and, he was loath to admit it, he couldn’t quite imagine that anymore. Maybe it was selfish of him to choose Harry over Lin, but he assured himself that Harry needed him more, that only he could give Harry the support he needed while Lin’s needs weren’t as clearly related to him. But in truth, he wasn’t so certain. If he devoted less time to Harry and more to Lin, if he showed her affection, if had less regard for Harry’s feelings – yes, then perhaps Lin’s problems could be resolved without sending her away. It would also create a whole new barrage of problems with Harry and resolving them wouldn’t go without collateral damage. And that just wasn’t an option, he resigned.

A small whimper drew his attention back to Lin, and he gently nudged her to her feet, herding her back to the rest of the pack. One more night, one more full moon, they would all be a pack.

Harry cocked his head in askance when they approached, yipping softly before he danced towards them. Fenrir was hard pressed to believe his eyes when Harry touched his nose to Lin’s, ducking low before rolling onto his back, exposing his throat to her. He didn’t avoid her eyes, he never would do that, Fenrir had learned, but the message of freely offered submission was clear nonetheless.

Lin took a step back, craning her head to have a good look at the small white wolf lying before her and then growled low in her chest, her flews drawing back from her teeth in anger and indignation at what she perceived as blatant mockery. Harry whimpered, still holding her gaze, and stretched his head a bit farther in her direction. Lin took another step back, but then hesitated, glancing at the Alpha, who was observing the whole display warily, ready to intervene if Harry’s foolish behaviour threatened to put him in danger. Her stance didn’t relax, but it changed from outright belligerent to highly confused.

With unsure, stalking steps, she moved only her front paws towards Harry, her hind legs firmly rooted to the ground. Finally, when no measure of stretching and flexing would bring her any closer to Harry, she dropped to her stomach, robbing towards the younger wolf and tentatively butted her nose against his, startling back slightly when Harry darted his tongue out, licking over both their noses. She grumbled in warning and Harry wagged his tail, as always completely ignorant to the proper ways a werewolf should behave.

The female werewolf studied the small canine carefully, then approached with greater intent, nudging Harry’s snout away to get to his vulnerable throat. Harry, Fenrir noted, hadn’t even the good sense to tense at least slightly when Lin’s teeth closed delicately over his vital line. Instead, he started purring.

Fenrir briefly considered being offended that Harry would yield so willingly to Lin but thought it beneath him to submit to Fenrir without a fight and a fair douse of grousing, but then Harry turned to look at him, his green eyes sparkling with mischief and the usual challenge. Fenrir answered it carefully, gently, tenderly, a warm growl issuing from his throat as he pressed his nose to Harry’s chin, the younger wolf’s unique smell filling his nostrils. With a pleased purr that turned abruptly into a low growl Harry twisted beneath him, stemming his small front paws against Fenrir’s wide chest and trying to snatch for the Alpha’s perked ears.

The large werewolf drew back slightly, baring his teeth to show that he was not amused. When Harry only relaxed, his tongue lolling out of his mouth, Fenrir gave up on trying to instil a healthy bit of respect in Harry and instead skirted his tongue over the soft black soles of Harry’s feet. Harry sort of yelped, kicking out and almost catching Fenrir’s nose with his uncontrolled movements and even looked slightly sheepish when he met Fenrir’s eyes, which was enough to appease the werewolf. Harry was just impossible like that, nothing would change that.

With a happy growl, he pounced on his little white one, snuffling the soft fur of Harry’s stomach and throwing his legs over him, and allowed Harry to curl into his chest. Soon after, sleepy green eyes drifted close and Harry’s breathing evened out.


	46. Fixing

“How’re you feeling?” Fenrir asked, smoothing a hand through Harry’s hair to make him rest more firmly against his chest.

“Thirsty,” Harry whispered shakily. “A bit dizzy. Where’s my wand?”

“Shh,” Fenrir murmured, holding a glass of water to Harry’s lips. “Just a moment, take a sip then you can have it.”

“Want to check that everything is okay with the baby,” Harry murmured, though he did as told.

“I already sent Sawyer to fetch that healer,” Fenrir told him, kissing Harry’s temple. “They should be here any moment. Try to rest a bit, alright, little surprising thing.”

“Why surprising?” Harry’s voice wavered strangely as if he didn’t have complete control over his vocal cords and his hand trembled as he rubbed it along Fenrir’s arm. “Because I survived again? I told you I would.”

“If I remember correctly, you made no promises,” the werewolf grumbled, pressing a kiss to Harry’s throat. “No, because you submitted to Lin last night. I didn’t expect that.”

Harry shrugged. “She would have easily made me if it had come to a fight. I rather thought I’d spare myself the pain.”

“I wouldn’t have let her hurt you,” Fenrir protested fiercely.

“Maybe not,” Harry admitted evenly. “But I don’t want you to fight my battles, and you didn’t intervene when she challenged Sirius. Better safe than sorry.”

“Sirius accepted,” Fenrir argued with a deep growl rumbling up in his chest. “And he won, so I don’t see what has you complaining now.”

“I’m not complaining,” Harry mumbled. “And for once, I don’t want to fight, wolfie. But have you seen Sirius this morning? That bite on his shoulder is still bleeding because he doesn’t have werewolf healing.”

“Lestrange can heal him, too,” Fenrir said, not quite sure if he should feel reprimanded or not.

Harry shrugged again, sighing a little. “Yeah, sure, I was just worried about him last night.”

“Maybe I could have prevented their power struggle at least for a little while longer,” the silver-haired man conceded. “It might not have been the best way to keep you calm.”

“Even Alphas make mistakes, huh?” Harry asked with a teasing sparkle in his eyes, though beneath it fatigue was lurking. “Good to know.”

Fenrir grumbled unwillingly, pressing a gruff kiss to Harry’s lips and tilting up his chin to nip at the pale throat. “Don’t let anyone hear that. You’ll ruin my reputation.”

Harry laughed. “Yes, my Alpha. Anything for my Alpha.”

Fenrir grunted, tightening his arms around the smaller man. “Watch that mouth, cheeky little thing. I’ll come back on that offer.”

“I’m counting on it,” Harry murmured, resting his cheek against Fenrir’s collarbone. “I’m kind of cold.”

As if proving his point, he shivered and goose bumps appeared on his arms. Fenrir didn’t need more prompting and seemingly neither did Lin, who had until then hovered a bit uncertainly near her own hut, but now slipped inside to get an armful of furs, spreading them carefully over Harry and Fenrir before stepping back.

“Thanks, Lin,” Harry said with a tired smile. “Do you think I could get a tea or a hot chocolate or something?”

“Sure,” the female werewolf agreed readily, actually crouching down in front of Harry and smiling at him. “If you tell me what exactly you want.”

“Hot chocolate,” Harry said after a brief moment of deliberation. “But don’t let Sirius get his hands on it or he’ll pour in enough sugar to rot my teeth.”

“I resent that!” Sirius’ exclaimed, gasping in pain when Remus pushed the towel back against his shoulder to stop the bleeding. “Ouch, you’re hurting my feelings there, Moony.”

“Hold still and it won’t hurt as much,” Remus admonished him, though he sounded weary as if he had not much hope of his advice being heeded. “And don’t poke that, it won’t make it any better.” He hastily batted Sirius’ hands away that had moved to fondle a bandage around his calf.

“But it’s scratchy!” Sirius whined, and Harry turned his face more fully into Fenrir’s chest to hide his amusement, listening to his godfathers banter back and forth until he had to decide that Fenrir tracing leisurely circles on his thighs and hips really warranted his undivided attention.

He must have drifted off into a light slumber because when he opened his eyes again, Rudolphus was tending to Sirius’ wounds and a cup of cocoa was sitting in front of him on the ground, still radiating some heat though no longer steaming.

He lifted his head slightly to look at the strong man still holding him. Fenrir really made a striking appearance, he admitted to himself with slight annoyance. All muscles and toned flesh, tanned skin, strong bones and a decidedly masculine form. He had often told Fenrir and himself that not everyone had an innate desire to have the stature of a bodybuilder who had not yet realised that steroids had no other merits than making you look like an overgrown action figure and messing up your health, but in all honesty, Fenrir had little in common with them. The werewolf was muscular, no doubt about that, but he was also a very large man – huge, by Harry’s standards – and so his muscles didn’t look bizarre or like misshapen lumps under skin stretched too tight. Instead they only enhanced the power he radiated like a damned electricity plant. Impressive. Fenrir was simply impressive and Harry was... not.

He had known that of course, hadn’t he? No use crying over spilt milk or simple facts of life. With a sigh and a soft kiss to Fenrir’s chin he put a stop to anymore depressing thought, intent on being happy and content with having such a ruggedly handsome hulk of a man. There were worse things after all than having protective arms wrapped around him, a hard chest to lean against and someone to carry him whenever he felt tired.

“Chocolate?” Fenrir asked gruffly, feathering a hand over Harry’s stomach and rubbing soothingly. “Lestrange will be finished soon to have a look at you.”

“Maybe a sip,” Harry agreed, warming his hands against the cup when Fenrir handed it to him before nipping cautiously on it. “Hm, perfect.”

He relaxed back into Fenrir’s hold, slowly drinking his cocoa until Rudolphus came over to them and enquired after his health. He then examined Harry, checking the baby’s position and health and gently healing the small bruises on his insides and the scratch on his cheek.

“Everything is all right,” Rudolphus told him reassuringly, his calming magic moving soothingly over Harry’s skin. “It is completely normal that you still feel drowsy from the potion I gave you to prevent premature labour. Have you felt any pain during the last night?”

“Just some small twinges, two times,” Harry admitted. “But they passed quickly enough when I didn’t move.”

Even though Harry had tried to brush their worries off, Rudolphus’ brow furrowed. “Contractions, suppressed by the potion and your magic. Have you felt the twinges you described before?”

Harry nodded hesitantly, and the healer’s expression darkened even more.

“If you feel abdominal pains more than once a day or expanding over more than five minutes, you will have to contact me immediately,” he replied, meeting first Harry’s eyes before addressing Fenrir for the second part of the sentence.

It was probably irrational to feel slighted by that, seeing as Fenrir would have to do the contacting anyway since Harry would most likely be in too much pain, but still. It was his life, his body, wasn’t it? He should make such decisions, or at the very least, he should be included in them and not discarded like a paper towel. Still, he wasn’t up for another debate about knowing what was best for his body and sulking would only be childish.

“Harry’ll know when he needs help,” Fenrir grumbled, a stubbly kiss brushing over Harry’s temple. “And we’ll discuss if we want to risk another full moon before getting the baby, won’t we, little one? But for now, I think the one thing that Harry really needs is rest and I’ll make sure he’ll get enough of that.”

“And someone to give me a backrub?” Harry added hopefully, grinning when the silver-haired man nodded readily.

“Of course,” Fenrir murmured, leaning down to claim Harry’s lips and mouth for himself. “Anything for my little human.”

Harry moaned, throwing his head back when Fenrir trailed kisses over his yaw line, down to the hollow of his throat before he moved back up to suckle lightly behind Harry’s ear. “Hm, that sounds awfully promising.”

“I’ll take my leave then, but do remember that Mr. Potter is still recovering and should take it easy,” Rudolphus said, also getting up. “If I might also suggest you massage this cream over your belly to avoid stretch marks?”

Fenrir accepted the small pot, sniffing its contents suspiciously. “It’s magical.”

“Honestly, wolfie, it won’t bite you,” Harry chastised, taking the pot from Fenrir and slipping it into his pocket. “I, on the other hand, just might.” He grinned, stretching a little to be able to nibble on Fenrir’s earlobe, gratified when a low groan escaped the werewolf and broad hands tightened on his waist.

“Stupid little wizard,” Fenrir grumbled, but gathered Harry in his arms before getting up. “You’ll be too tired to follow through with such promises.”

“Hm, that does sound rather like a challenge,” Harry mused, waving good-byes over Fenrir’s shoulder before he had to snake his arms around said man’s neck when the werewolf ducked through the door of their hut.

“It’s the truth, silly thing,” Fenrir grumbled, kicking the door shut behind them. “And I won’t allow you to prove me wrong so forget about that right now. I want you to rest, preferably in my arms but if you can’t keep your hands to yourself, I’ll have to leave to avoid temptation. And that pout of yours can only be considered temptation so you better tone it down.”

“I’m not pouting,” Harry protested, only reluctantly loosening his hold on Fenrir when he was put down on their furs. “But I still think you’re being unreasonable and unfair. Sexual frustration is not good for me, you know?”

Fenrir barked out a laugh then leaned in for a kiss, as slow and as gentle as if to make up for the passion Harry would have to miss out on, captured Harry’s face between his large hands and rubbed his thumbs over the still too sharp cheekbones.

“I wish you would eat more,” Fenrir murmured, kissing Harry’s forehead and then his eyelids. “You’re too thin.”

“You call this thin?” Harry motioned vaguely at his midsection. “I look like I - ”

“It looks like you’re very pregnant, absolutely gorgeous at that, but haven’t gained an ounce for yourself. Only the baby,” Fenrir interrupted him. “And that can’t be healthy. You’re still that beautiful stick with two legs I met in Azkaban.”

“Seemed to find me attractive enough,” Harry pointed out, looping one leg over Fenrir’s back.

“I’d still find you attractive and more than that if I couldn’t pay homage to your every bone with my eyes,” Fenrir argued gently. “So, please, don’t tell me you’re starving yourself for me.”

“I’m not starving myself,” Harry exclaimed, but then sighed. “I just... I can’t eat that much or I’ll get sick.”

“You haven’t had morning sickness in a while,” Fenrir said, his brow furrowing in thought. “And I’m not saying you should stuff yourself to bursting point, but I believe you could safely eat a bit more.”

“Do you think we could drop this discussion?” Harry demanded, wriggling a little to get more comfortable – and yes, to draw Fenrir’s mind to more important matters; only, that this time, it didn’t work quite as planned.

“I’d rather you’d tell me why you think you’ll be sick,” Fenrir grumbled, nudging his hip against one of Harry’s knobbly knees. “I wouldn’t let you eat something bad.”

“I know that,” Harry answered unhappily. “I really don’t want to talk about it, though. I’ll eat more if it’s bothering you so much. What about that backrub?”

“Moonlight... Harry, remember that discussion about being partners, being a team? Now would be a good opportunity to show me that you got my point.” He kissed Harry’s pert little nose.

Harry sighed, closing his eyes briefly before looking up at his werewolf, his lover, his partner. “When I was... The Dursleys didn’t much care spending valuable money on me, be it for toys, clothing or food. If at all, I got what Dudley, my cousin left. As it was, Dudley seldom left food; he was awfully fond of that stuff.” Fenrir cupped Harry’s face, rolling off of him and spooning around him. “So I didn’t get to eat much, but I was fine, mostly. But from time to time, the hunger just got too much and I stole their food.”

“It’s not stealing if they purposefully withheld something they should have provided to you in the first place,” Fenrir growled, only earning himself a disinterested shrug.

“Anyway, one day, Uncle Vernon came back earlier than I had expected and caught me eating some bread,” Harry continued. “He shouted at me, of course, gave me a good beating and then he forced me to eat until I threw up, then still crammed more food into my mouth... Then he locked me up. Didn’t get food for close to a week.” He shrugged again.

Fenrir growled deeply, running his hands all over Harry’s body and pressing his lips to Harry’s face, neck and throat as if to make sure that despite all, he was still there. “Little one...” His voice died, and he pushed his face into Harry’s back to smother the angry roar that burst from deep within his chest. _Fucking humans! Worthless, ungrateful, pathetic, disgusting excuses for rational beings!_ He’d kill them, kill them with his bare hands, pluck off their fingers and toes one by one, rip off their limbs, their genitals, scratch off their skin, tear out their hair and feed every last bit of human waste to them, shove it into their greedy holes and down their glutton throats until they’d suffocate on it! But that would never happen, even if they were still alive, would it? No, Harry wouldn’t allow him his revenge, would foolishly protect them so that they wouldn’t get their just desserts. Harry was an idiot, idiotic little human. And they were dead.

He tightened his hold on the small man in his arms, feeling the bird-like bones under his fingers, ready to snap, and loosened his arms again because Harry was still suffering – just desserts or not – and their death hadn’t helped him one bit, had it? And wouldn’t that have been something Harry would have said to stop him? That the past was the past, that no form of revenge could make it undone, that two wrongs didn’t make anything right? _Fucking monsters!_

“Fen?” Harry’s voice was much too cautious, his whole body tense but his pose submissive as if he was afraid, afraid of Fenrir, of Fenrir’s anger being directed at him, which was the most ridiculous notion.

“Shush,” Fenrir whispered, trying to find the right words or at least some words that wouldn’t make Harry cry because he didn’t think he would be able to stand seeing his tears. “I guess you don’t want to hear what I’d like to do to them, do you?”

Harry’s lips quirked into a wry grin, and he blinked up at the werewolf, turning to lie on his back so that he could look up at him. “Not really, no.”

“Did that happen more than once?” Fenrir asked carefully, absently patting Harry’s sable hair.

Harry shrugged again. “Once or twice, I learned to live with the hunger and once I had studied Occlumency it was easier to block out. But I still don’t like food, Fen, I just don’t like eating. I can’t help it.”

Fenrir sighed, but nodded. Wasn’t that understandable? Harry probably abhorred the mere idea of putting anything in his mouth, much less swallowing it down. The generous offer of as much food as he could possibly want probably scared him shitless or at least made him highly suspicious.

He slipped his hand under Harry’s sweater, rubbing soothingly over the slight chest before paying special attention to Harry’s nipples, teasing the dusty pink nubs with flicks of his fingers and gentle tweaking. “I don’t like you not eating, small wolf. I can’t help that, either.”

That put the vulnerability right back into Harry’s eyes. Had they always been this huge? Fenrir groaned, pressed a kiss to Harry’s lips, trying to entice an answer from them that could be interpreted as something else than a terrified tremble.

“Hey,” he murmured against the soft pink lips, locking his eyes with Harry’s, not allowing the younger man to shy away from him. “None of that. You know, I love you. I wouldn’t ever hurt you or allow you to come to any harm, right?”

It was Harry’s turn to give him a shy nod. “I know you would never starve me... and I seriously doubt you would force food down my throat just to make me puke it back up.”

“But?” Fenrir asked carefully, not wanting to upset him again; maybe they really should have had this discussion another time, after Harry had had time to rest up.

“But you all insist that I should eat more, and I see your point, I do. But you watching me like hawks and piling more food on my plate than I could possibly manage, it doesn’t give me such a good feeling.”

Fenrir hummed, brushing a kiss over Harry’s cheek. “We could not look at you while you’re eating, would that help?”

Harry shrugged, biting his lip. “I don’t know, wolfie. Maybe. But it won’t change the fact that I don’t like putting food in my mouth and feel it go down, settle in my stomach. I see the necessity, that’s all.”

“But isn’t there some food you really like?” Fenrir prompted. “What about potato gratin or ice cream or all that stuff you piled on your pancakes?”

“Oh, I can appreciate the taste, that’s not what I meant,” Harry murmured, looking pleadingly up at the werewolf. “I know that I like certain foods, but I never eat because I like it; I eat because I **have** to. Now more than ever. This food-craving-thing, I thought it would be great, but it just leaves me wanting certain foods but with still no desire to actually eat them. I’m always stuck not knowing if I should savour every bite because who knows when I’ll get to eat next or wolf it down as quickly as possible before someone takes it away from me. And I know that’s irrational, Fen, but it just is how I feel.”

The werewolf groaned, pulling Harry to his chest and closing his arms tight around him. “What am I going to do with you, little moonlight, hm?”

“Fuck me?” Harry offered, his hands fisting in Fenrir’s silver hair. “I’d like that.”

“No doubt you would,” Fenrir muttered, teasingly pecking Harry’s lips. “But that’s not going to help you put on some weight.”

“Celibacy isn’t the solution, though,” Harry pointed out, then tried to captured Fenrir’s lips for a deeper kiss. “Believe me, I tried that for quite a long time before I met you.”

“Then what is, sweet one?” the werewolf demanded. “Because I haven’t got a fucking clue.”

“Ignore it?” Harry asked with hope, sighing when that earned him a glare. “Yeah, thought so... I don’t really know, wolfie, but I guess not nagging me and not staring at me while I eat - not that I don’t appreciate your stares otherwise - would be a good start. And in return, I promise to eat three meals a day. I’ll even write what I ate down so that you can control it. And you know I’m already taking Nutrition Potions, so I get everything the baby and I need.”

“Fine, except for one thing,” Fenrir answered. “I don’t want to control anything. Write the food down, but do it for yourself.”

“Like hell you don’t want to control anything,” Harry mocked with a happy laugh. “You’re an absolute control freak. This must really be freaking you out.”

With a growl, Fenrir pushed Harry down into the furs, divested him of his sweater and t-shirt in one quick motion, and covered his paler body with his own, leaning so close that their cheeks brushed and whispered in Harry’s ear, “You’re my exception.”

“It’s okay,” Harry murmured, his eyes fluttering close when Fenrir started to caress his sides. “I’m glad I’m not the only one.”

“Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

They lay in silence for several minutes, giving and receiving comfort and just enjoying being together. Fenrir continued stroking Harry’s sides and Harry’s fingers wound themselves into the other man’s silver hair, tugging from time to time, but mostly just petting and massaging Fenrir’s scalp.

“Want that backrub now?” Fenrir murmured, gently helping Harry to sit up and arranging him between his legs.

Harry nodded, rolling his shoulder as Fenrir smoothed his large hands over his back, with too much pressure at first, but then quickly tempering down to something Harry enjoyed if the soft sighs he gave were any indication. After he had worked out all the tense lines and knots from Harry’s back, he reached for the pot of magical crème, once again sniffed at it suspiciously, but then carefully rubbed it into Harry’s skin. The magic tingled on his skin like tiny crawling ants. Harry moaned happily so he resigned himself. When Harry felt ready to drop off, Fenrir’s hands drifted around him in a loose hug and then pulled him down into a lying position.

“I have to talk to Lin for a moment, but why don’t you get comfortable already and I’ll be with you before you know it,” Fenrir murmured, dropping a kiss into Harry’s hair.

Harry grasped Fenrir by the wrist, staring at him with wide eyes. “Why do you’ve got to talk with Lin? We made up, I submitted to her! What more do you want?!”

“So that’s why you submitted to her? That was your last ditch effort at keeping her here,” Fenrir grumbled.

Harry sent him an exasperated look. “Did you think I had the sudden urge to grovel? Or that just felt like living out my inferiority complex and become your pack’s Omega?”

“You’re not the Omega. You can’t be the Omega, you’re my mate,” Fenrir protested.

“I beg to differ,” Harry mocked. “Lin obviously had a problem with her status, with me. Well, I changed at least one parameter, if that means I’m the lowest in the food chain now, so be it.”

“Incredible little human,” Fenrir murmured with a fond smile. “Why would you do that?”

Another incredulous look. “What do you think, wolfie? I’m not going to be responsible for breaking up your pack.”

“Thank you, but it wouldn’t have been necessary, as I tried to explain to you before,” Fenrir answered. “I’m sure it meant a lot to Lin what you did last night, and it certainly means a lot to me that you did it for me, but she might still want to take a vacation, to get a new perspective on things. Trust me a little, I can fix my pack, even if I can’t fix you, moonlight.”

“Fen...” Harry sighed. Of course Fen would see it this way, as Harry poking his nose into things that were none of his business and not allowing Fenrir to prove that he could help him. “You’re fixing me, a little at a time. Just don’t expect any miracles.”

The werewolf grinned, and Harry was surprised what sweeping effects stroking the Alpha’s ego a little had. Maybe he should do that more often; it would certainly be worth it if it made Fenrir this happy.

“You’re already enough of a miracle for me, sweet one,” Fenrir said, looking with such intensity at Harry that the younger man felt his face flush.

“Well then, go ahead,” Harry said, curling up under the furs to escape Fenrir’s gaze. “Just don’t be too long.”

Fenrir leaned over Harry, tucking the furs tight around him and pressing a kiss to his temple before he got up to talk with Lin.

ö_ö_ö

Harry harshly tugged on his sweater, trying to make it cover his extended middle. This really was getting ridiculous! It had even got to the point where he could barely see the tips of his toes when he looked down. It was pathetic, but what was even more pathetic was how badly he wanted to believe Fenrir’s assurances that he was still gorgeous, attractive in every possible way and most of all not fat. Well-meant lies and they knew it both.

“Finished with that?” Fenrir asked, carefully wrapping himself around his young lover and nodding towards the used plate next to Harry. “There’s more, if you want to?”

“No, thanks.” Harry almost winced at his snappish tone. “I mean, I’ve had enough. Thank you.”

Fenrir grinned, allowing Harry to shift in his embrace until they were facing each other, with Harry’s legs thrown over his thighs, wrapped snugly around his waist. “I know, don’t worry about it. Do you think now would be a good time to discuss the situation?”

“Do you?” Harry arched an eyebrow.

“I think there never will be, but since we’ll have to we might as well do so now,” Fenrir grumbled, caressing Harry’s thighs. “Before it’s too late.”

“Gee, try not to sound so fucking ominous, will you?” Harry shook his head. “We’re going to consider what will be best for the baby; we’re not going to consider something going wrong.”

“And for you,” Fenrir added. “You’re life isn’t a secondary concern to me.”

“I know that,” Harry whispered with a soft smile, leaning close and brushing a gentle kiss over the bridge of Fenrir’s nose. “I’m glad I have you. This way, I don’t have to worry about myself.”

“Before I talk myself into a right mess, would you like to tell me what you think?” Fenrir asked, after he had given Harry a reassuring kiss.

“I like Michael,” Harry offered, and Fenrir growled.

“I’ll kill him!”

“I’d hope not as I was considering naming our son that,” Harry stated dryly.

“I don’t want to talk baby names,” Fenrir argued. “I want to know how our son will be born.”

“Can’t we ease into the subject?” Harry all but pleaded. “Something easy to decide before we go flat out?”

Fenrir’s expression softened and he gave a small nod of agreement. “I’ll be calling the baby ‘cub’, so it’s up to you.”

“Well, that’s helpful,” Harry muttered sarcastically. “Isn’t there a name you like? A name you’d like to give your son?”

“My father’s name was Paul, I suppose we could call him that,” Fenrir answered, making clear that the whole discussion about names left him unenthusiastic.

“No offence, but I don’t want our son to have a second-hand name. I want him to have a fresh start, a blank page to write his own story, make his own decisions, go his own way without having to live up to anyone’s expectations or name,” Harry refuted his idea. “Besides Paul Potter? That’s not exactly a good combination.”

“Greyback.”

“Excuse me?”

“Paul Greyback,” Fenrir corrected, his eyes turning slightly yellow. “This is my child.”

Harry arched an eyebrow. “So what? It’s my child as well.”

“I’m the father.”

“And what am I in your opinion?” Harry hissed dangerously. “A breeding mare? An incubator? Someone who couldn’t possibly be as important as the **father**? Well, guess what? We’re not married so you have no legal claims at all to me or the baby!”

“Don’t put words in my mouth!” Fenrir growled, grasping Harry’s shoulders and just barely resisting the urge to shake some sense into the stupid little wizard. “I never said any of those things.”

“It was implied loud and clear,” Harry snapped back.

“You’re mine, you both are,” Fenrir snarled, trying hard to control his temper and deliberately loosening his hold on Harry. “If you need a wedding to acknowledge that, fine, marry me!”

Harry choked out a laugh. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? But I’m not that desperate, thanks.”

Fenrir’s eyes went completely yellow with rage. “I forgot, such a perfect little wizard like yourself wouldn’t possibly want to marry a tainted monster like I am.”

“That’s not what I meant!” Harry protested, his eyes widening slightly as he realised how his words must have sounded to Fenrir.

“It was implied loud and clear,” Fenrir threw Harry’s earlier words back at him and moved to pluck the black-haired man from his lap, but Harry wrapped his arms tightly around the werewolf’s neck and refused to let go.

“What I intended to say is that I’m not desperate enough to marry someone, who doesn’t really want me, who only asked me because of some stupid fight about last names,” he whispered urgently, clinging to his partner. “I’m not going to marry you just to make sure that you’ll be there for me. I don’t need a marriage for that. You’re not going to leave me... right?”

Fenrir’s arms automatically tightened, drawing Harry close, when he felt a tremble go through the small body, and he sighed. “Of course not. Shush, try not to panic. Everything’s fine.”

“No, it isn’t. I’m sorry.” Harry sniffed, burying his face against Fenrir’s neck when the werewolf settled back down. “That sounded horrible, and I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I guess I hurt you as well, without meaning to?” Fenrir asked cautiously, feeling a timid nod against his head. “How?”

“I’m going to be a father, too,” Harry mumbled. “Just because you’re older and just because you knocked me up it doesn’t give you the right to lord it over me.”

“That’s not what I was trying to do,” Fenrir answered, petting Harry’s dark hair soothingly. “I just want to make it clear to everyone that this is my child. You’re the pregnant one, there’s no doubt about your parenthood.”

“It never occurred to me that you might want the baby to have your last name,” Harry admitted. “I guess it just came as kind of a shock, but if that is what you really want, I’m fine with it. No marriage required. It’s not like my last name ever brought me any luck, our son might be better off without it.”

“Thank you, little one,” Fenrir grumbled. “I would marry you, though, if you’ll have me...”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to demand you make an honest man out of me, Fen, don’t worry... So what about Michael?”

Fenrir carefully hid his disappointment by pressing a kiss into Harry’s hair. “It’s a good name, small one. I might even use it on occasion.”

“Good.” Harry nodded in satisfaction. “But tell me if you think of something else. And you can choose a second name.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Fenrir agreed, tipping Harry’s chin up with his forefinger. “Now can we get to the part of how and when Michael is going to come into the world?”

Harry sighed, absently tapping his fingers against Fenrir’s chest, running them through his chest hair. “Healer Lestrange doesn’t think I’ll survive another full moon.”

“He didn’t say that! And who gives a shit what he thinks anyway?” Fenrir growled testily.

Harry shrugged. “I think he might be right. I just have this feeling in my gut, you know? Every time the baby kicks or moves just slightly, I feel like he’s punching the breath right out of me. It’s a lot worse on the full moon and my magic doesn’t react as willingly when I’m in my wolf form. It doesn’t start healing me. I’m just glad the shield is holding.”

Reproaches were on the tip of Fenrir’s tongue, but he swallowed them back down with some difficulty, instead cupping Harry’s face between his hands, feeling the soft tickling of Harry’s lashes when the deep green eyes focused on him, chagrined. “Not another full moon, then. Lestrange said the best time would be one week before the full moon to give the baby enough time to recover from the delivery. That would be another ten days, do you think you’re up for that or are you in too much pain? Oh, and sweet one?” He put a finger against Harry’s lips to shush his response. “I’d like an honest answer, if you would. This’ll stay between us and there’s no need to put on a show for me.”

Harry blew out his breath noisily, rubbing absent circles on his stomach while his eyes never left Fenrir’s, studying him, looking for possible deception, scorn or pity. “Ten days doesn’t sound too bad,” he finally said softly as if testing the words and then nodded decisively. “I can do it.”

Fenrir returned his smile. “I don’t doubt it, my little white one. We’ll take it easy and you can preserve your strength - ”

“Stop, stop!” Harry interrupted him, putting his finger to the werewolf’s mouth and glaring at him. “I don’t like where this is going. I’m not letting you put me back on fucking bed rest. No fucking way!”

Fenrir felt a growl rise in his chest and Harry narrowed his eyes at him, tilting his chin defiantly. “Why must you turn everything into a fight?” he grumbled angrily, weaving his fingers through Harry’s hair so that he had a good hold on him.

“Because you insist on treating me like a baby,” Harry shot back. “You shouldn’t have slept with me if you aren’t willing to see me as an adult, capable of making my own decisions and trusting me when I say that I don’t need bed rest.”

“Actually, I wasn’t going to argue with you about that so your hostility is rather misplaced, don’t you think?” Fenrir pointed out with a roll of his eyes, pulling Harry against his chest.

“So you’re not going to tie me to the bed?” Harry asked suspiciously.

“My, Harry, I didn’t know you were into that,” Fenrir mocked, easily deflecting Harry’s hand that had moved to slap him over the head. “That’s quite an arousing picture you’re painting – I will have to come back on it.”

“I’m serious,” Harry insisted, though he couldn’t hide the amusement in his eyes.

“And that’s quite a turn-on, my sexy little thing,” Fenrir teased, tilting Harry’s head with a decisive tug on his hair so that he had perfect access to the creamy white neck.

“Fen...” Harry’s protest turned into a pleasure-filled moan as his hands fisted in Fenrir’s silver mane. “Fen...”

The werewolf grumbled happily, feeling Harry’s small body arching under the gentle assault to his neck, his rounded belly pressing comfortingly against Fenrir’s hard abdomen. And Fenrir held that perfect combination of shameless seduction and endearing innocence, feeling the familiar swell of raw emotions expand in his chest until he could taste them on his tongue and he could communicate everything he never quite knew how to express without sounding like a cheap romance novel in a long, lingering kiss.

Someone cleared their throat and startled them apart. Fenrir glared at Lin, who seemed to shrink with unease. “I’m doing the dishes; I wanted to ask for Harry’s plate...” She trailed off as Fenrir growled at her.

“Oh, right, sorry,” Harry mumbled, peering over his shoulder at the female werewolf before ducking his head to hide his blush.

“No problem, Harry.” Lin grinned at him like the protective older sister she had turned into around Harry; there was none of her hostility or jealousy left, which quite frankly, astounded Fenrir just as much as her decision to stay with the pack until after the baby was born, to lend her support and welcome the newest member of the pack, before travelling for a bit.

Harry had taken it all in stride, didn’t seem surprised in the least when Fenrir relayed to him her change of plans, and returned her friendliness without reservations. Fenrir admired him for that, and fell even more in love with him.

Harry wriggled in his hold to try to reach the plate, and if Fenrir hadn’t stabilised him quickly he would have toppled from his perch on Fenrir’s lap. “Careful there,” Fenrir grumbled, bringing Harry safely back against his chest. “Lin can get the plate herself, no need hurting yourself over it.”

“I knew you were going to catch me,” Harry replied, unconcerned.

Fenrir grumbled unwillingly, but he couldn’t fall into a bad mood with Harry sitting so comfortably in his lap, slender arms wrapped loosely around his neck, soft puffs of breath ghosting over his cheek and those deep green eyes staring trustingly into his.

“I’ll just be going then,” Lin interrupted before he could drown completely in Harry’s gaze. “Sawyer wanted to go hunting with you, Alpha. Should I tell him that you’re busy?”

“No, that’s fine,” Harry answered, pushing slightly away from Fenrir. “I’m meeting David at the castle in half an hour, and Emily said she might stop by now that Frank’s finally out of the hospital.”

“You didn’t tell me.” Fenrir scowled at his young lover.

“You never asked,” Harry gave back. “I guess you were hoping I’d stay in bed all day, passing the time by counting sheep? Sorry, that’s not going to happen, wolfie. Besides, I’ll be at the castle, with Healer Lestrange just a shout away. I’ll be perfectly safe.”

“You’d be safe here as well,” Fenrir pointed out, trying to quench the small part of him that wanted to be offended by Harry’s words.

“I know, my Alpha.” Harry smiled at him, brushed a kiss over his lips and then hoisted himself up. “I promise you that I’ll miss you terribly and will be very **eager** when I see you again this evening.” He grinned, trailing a suggestive hand down Fenrir’s bare chest. “Miss me, too?”

“I don’t see why we can’t skip the missing part and go right over to the eagerness,” Fenrir said hopefully, getting to his feet as well and grasping Harry’s hips.

Harry’s laugh was soft, slightly regretful, as he shook his head. “I promised.”

“Sometimes, I wish you were more like other wizards,” Fenrir grumbled. “Then you wouldn’t have a problem going back on a promise. Why can’t you at least meet here?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Because I need to get out every once in a while. And I need to check up on Tom as well, make sure that he isn’t planning another war in that head of his and that he’ll be there when... in ten days.”

“What?” Fenrir asked in surprise. “You want him there when you give birth?”

“He’ll be able to balance my magic if it should get out of control.” Harry shrugged, pretending that he wasn’t scared at the prospect. “I’ll feel better with him there.”

“You’ll have me,” Fenrir grumbled, stroking a hand down Harry’s back. “You won’t need him, but if his presence will help you, ask him by all means.”

Harry smiled a small, grateful smile, soaking a little longer in Fenrir’s gentle touch before he stepped back. “See you tonight?”

Fenrir nodded, pulling Harry into a last drawn-out kiss before he reluctantly let him go.


	47. The Next Great Adventure

Harry felt unusually happy and serene when he came back through the portal, not a small part of which was due to releasing some magic in a transfiguration contest with David and Draco, finding that Voldemort had surprisingly enough abandoned his plans of genocide and was focusing all his energy on politics, having a reassuring check-up and then finally a very nice pep-talk from Emily. The pregnant witch had come to the castle and after chattering on about all the little ailments Harry could sympathise with all too well, she had shown Harry some pictures of her family – husband, two little girls, a cat – and told him anecdotes of their lives. She hadn’t tried to sugarcoat the difficult times, had admitted to her mistakes and pointed out her husband’s flaws without accusation.

Sometimes, she had laughed and Harry had found himself chuckling along and other times, she had blown out a frustrated breath to stop the tears, but always, always, Harry had been able to hear the honesty in her voice.

Emily might not have the perfect marriage or the perfect family, but what she had, she shared with her husband. They had both made mistakes, some small, some rather colossal, but in the end, they had worked everything out – together. Because, as Emily had said, it wasn’t enough if the one who had committed the wrong apologised; the other had to accept the apology as well and be ready to forgive. Harry wasn’t quite sure if Fenrir and he were very good at that particular interaction.

But what he liked most about Emily was the way she looked at him. No blind adoration nor hatred, no expectancy and no disappointment, just a warm, friendly look with no ulterior motives. She saw Harry, the young man with the troubled past who was scared shitless at the thought of being a parent and failing miserably. She didn’t judge him for it; she didn’t offer bland assurances that everything would work out just fine. She would listen to Harry’s half-true confessions and smile at him in a way that told him that she understood. And when she had squeezed Harry’s hand, it had been all the encouragement Harry had needed.

So, with steps that were lighter than they had any right to be, considering his protruding middle, he walked towards the huts, though he was slightly surprised that Fenrir hadn’t met him at the portal. He had expected to find Fenrir pacing and glaring at the portal with yellowish eyes because, even if they hadn’t set a specific time, Harry was later than usual, which in Fenrir’s eyes always seemed to justify getting all worked up. But Harry was glad that he wouldn’t have to deal with Fenrir’s jealous rages and concerns because, as flattering as they might be, he just wanted to spend a quiet, peaceful evening with his werewolf, make love, snuggle and drift off to sleep to the soothing rhythm of Fenrir’s heart beat.

He faltered as he became aware of the unusual silence, the utter stillness. Something was wrong. He picked up his steps, hastening through the gap between Lin’s and Tristan’s huts, and almost panicked when he found the fireplace deserted. Looking around he saw that one of the doors was open and he felt his heart drop. _No! Not now! Not ever! But most of all not now!_

He needed several long moments to get his legs to move, his brain’s commands being short-circuited before they could reach his muscles because of his runaway emotions.

The interior of the hut was dim and stuffy, all of the pack crowding in the small place and Harry found himself supported by Sawyer’s strong arm wrapped around his waist moments before he realised that he was feeling faint.

He wanted to thank the werewolf, but what came out instead was a whimpered “no” that made Fenrir look up at him from where he was wrapped around Bryan. The older werewolf’s breathing was laboured, his skin looked clammy and pale and his eyes were half-closed in pain.

“Harry, you should go lie down, this isn’t good for you,” Fenrir grumbled, his voice even rougher than usual. “Remus, take him outside.”

Bryan’s eyes fluttered open, and he arched weakly in Fenrir’s embrace when a wet cough forced itself from his throat. “Harry?”

“Yeah, he’s here now, Bryan,” Fenrir murmured, carding his hands through Bryan’s sweaty, white hair.

“Good,” Bryan whispered. “He should be with the pack... Maya...”

“Shh, I’m here, love,” Maya soothed, leaning down to brush a kiss over his wrinkled forehead. “Don’t strain yourself. Everything will be okay. You’ll pull through.”

“Not this time, I won’t, honey,” Bryan replied tenderly, fumbling for her hand before he intertwined their fingers. “It’s gotten to my heart this time.”

Maya squeezed her eyes shut, but the tears streamed down her cheeks, nonetheless, and Tristan reached forward to comfort his sister.

“I’m sorry that I won’t meet the baby,” Bryan whispered.

“We’ll tell him about you,” Fenrir murmured, reaching out for Harry to pull him down and into his side. “He’ll know you.”

“Good.” He smiled peacefully. “Then I think I’ve accomplished everything I’ve been set on this earth for. Just remember what I told you, Fenrir.”

“I will,” Fenrir grumbled, supporting his Beta when he had another coughing fit and rubbing his back. “Shh, easy there.”

“Take Maya in your arms from time to time, just to remind her that I love her,” Bryan murmured, squeezing her hand. “And take Chetan out more often so that he can see for himself what life is like in the world outside of the pack.”

“Alright, I’ll do that,” Fenrir promised, resting his hand over Bryan’s heart, feeling the erratic heartbeat.

“Don’t forget about Lin when she’s with Marrock’s pack. She’s still your responsibility. Make sure that she knows that she’s always welcome to come back,” the old werewolf continued. “Don’t be too hard on Remus. He still has a lot to learn and living with Sirius can’t be easy.”

“Hey,” Sirius exclaimed, but softly and without real anger. “I’m housetrained.”

Fenrir chuckled, nodding against Bryan’s head. The older werewolf’s  breathing hitched for a moment before evening out again, allowing him to continue, “Sawyer and Tristan, they’ll be fine as long as you don’t get yourself thrown back in prison again. I won’t be there to cover your ass this time.”

“I’ll remember that.” Fenrir answered. “And I remember what you told me about Harry. He’s in good hands with me, Bryan.”

“Good,” the old werewolf murmured, sighing deeply before his breath stuttered once again, his hands clenching and his body arching up in a seizure.

Harry pressed closer to Fenrir, swallowing the pitiful whimper that had threatened to spill from his throat. “Fen... Isn’t there anything...?”

“Afraid not, little man.” Bryan spoke up once more. “My time’s been running short for a while now. I got longer than I expected, so I suppose I ought to be grateful. Also, because my hearing works just fine.”

“Sorry,” Harry replied, ducking his head. “I don’t think... I’m really sorry, I just can’t.”

“Alright, little one,” Fenrir murmured, brushing a kiss over Harry’s temple before he released him. “Why don’t you let Remus and Sirius take you over to our hut? Maybe take a little nap.”

“’kay,” Harry whispered, hesitantly ghosting his hand over Bryan’s brow. “Sorry.”

“Someone should really tell him to stop blaming himself,” Bryan whispered as Remus and Sirius led Harry from the hut, but Harry didn’t hear him as he was half-buried against Remus’ chest.

“Come, cub.” Remus gently urged Harry through the door and into the Alpha’s hut. “Do you want to lie down? Have a bite to eat?”

“You don’t have to stay, I’ll be fine,” Harry said, sitting down on the pile of furs.

“Are you sure, Harry?” Remus asked, crouching down in front of Harry and carding his hands through Harry’s unruly hair.

“Yeah.” Harry nodded. “You should say your good-byes. It’s just that I... can’t.”

“It’s okay, cub,” Sirius soothed him. “I’ll stay here with you.”

“No, I want you to go with Remus,” Harry said, shaking his head. “He needs you, and I’ll be sleeping anyway.”

“Thank you, cub. Bryan was the one who welcomed me into the pack and he helped me to get in touch with my werewolf side. I owe him a lot,” Remus said. “But I’ll keep an ear open so if you need anything just give me a shout.”

Harry nodded, then closed his eyes until his godfathers had left, trying hard not to think about how hopelessly pathetic he was.

ö_ö_ö

Fenrir took a deep breath, then quietly slipped into his hut, searching the dim room for his young lover, not finding him. But the door to the nursery was slightly open and when he stepped into their son’s room, he found Harry huddled in a corner, his slender arms wrapped tight around his up-drawn knees.

Without a word, he sat down next to Harry and pulled him into his arms, pressing a kiss into Harry’s hair.

“Are you okay?” he finally asked, trying to unwrap Harry’s tightly clenched fists.

“I should be asking you that,” Harry whispered dejectedly.

“I’ve been better,” Fenrir admitted. “But that doesn’t mean that I stop caring about you.”

“You shouldn’t have to. I should be there for you and comfort you, not the other way round.” Harry sniffed. “But I’m not strong enough, I’m sorry I’m such a burden. I wish I was more like you.”

“I’m glad you’re not or can you imagine how many more arguments we would have?” Fenrir replied in an attempt to lighten the mood. “We’d be constantly butting heads.”

“It’s not fair to you,” Harry argued bitterly. “You already have to be strong for your pack. Just for once I wanted to allow you to forget about all that so that you can focus on you. Instead I only add to your problems. I’m so selfish.”

“You’re full of compassion,” Fenrir corrected. “And you’ve already lost too many people in your life. Of course this is not easy for you. Just because you didn’t know Bryan for as long as I did, doesn’t mean you have less right to mourn him. I wouldn’t love you if you had the emotional capacities of a block of ice, little one. And just because I’m able to bring you comfort, doesn’t mean that I don’t find your presence very soothing as well.”

“But I ran away, I wasn’t there for you,” Harry muttered.

“You are now,” Fenrir stated simply, gathering Harry closer to his chest. “And that helps me a lot.”

“How? How could it possibly help you to have someone like me, weak, pathetic - ”

“I have someone to hold, to caress, to smell. Someone who loves me and feels bad because he thinks he isn’t helping me. I have someone who allows me to protect him, even though I’m well aware he doesn’t need me to. You’re too strong for that.”

“I don’t feel strong,” Harry murmured, glancing up at the werewolf.

“I’ll tell you a secret,” Fenrir whispered, his lips tickling Harry’s ear. “Sometimes, I don’t feel strong myself and then I pretend until my confidence returns.” He chuckled when Harry looked incredulously at him, pecking Harry’s nose. “Pretty effective, huh?”

“Doesn’t work for me,” Harry finally replied, ducking his head again. “Doesn’t work now.”

“And why would you think so, sweet little thing?” Fenrir demanded. “What do you think you have to do to be a worthy comfort-giver? Tell me.”

“I should take you in my arms, hold you,” Harry murmured, biting his lip and clenching his fists once more. “I should be able to come up with something to say that would make you feel better. I should be a pillar of support, I should be your shoulder to cry on. I should tell you that everything will be alright. I should make tea, for Merlin’s Sake, just something more productive than crying my eyes out.”

“What’s stopping you?” Fenrir asked mildly, kissing Harry’s temple.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut. _It hurts too much. I’m losing it. Everything is falling apart. It’s starting again. This wasn’t supposed to happen._ Instead he said “nothing” because those were selfish thoughts, and Fenrir needed him now.

“I find that hard to believe,” the werewolf replied, but Harry just returned his questioning gaze with calm, unreadable eyes. Defences up because it was the only way he knew how to handle his weakness, to be strong like he should be.

“Is there anything I can do?” Harry asked softly, resting his palm against Fenrir’s cheek and softly smoothing his thumb over his cheekbone. “I want to help you.”

Fenrir sighed, resting his hand lightly on Harry’s back to urge him closer. “Thank you, but holding you is enough for me. Always was, always will be.”

“That’s sappy,” Harry commented, still studying him intently, ready to catch him in a lie. Fenrir wasn’t lying.

“I’m entitled to that,” Fenrir replied with a hint of smugness, licking over the tear tracks on Harry’s cheek.

“You’re pretending,” Harry stated, burying his hands in Fenrir’s hair. “You don’t have to, for my sake. I can handle it if you’re sad or angry.”

“Why would I be angry?” Fenrir asked in surprise. “Death is an integrate part of life, equal, fair, non-negotiable. Only idiots like Voldemort try to bargain their way out of it, but all they get is cheap deals. Bryan knew that.”

Harry bit his lip, hard, and the scent of blood permeated Fenrir’s nostrils. “He wasn’t that old. It... it wasn’t natural.”

“He had Silver Poisoning, small one,” Fenrir explained patiently. “He was stabbed with a silver knife years ago, not a deathly wound, but a chip of silver remained in his blood stream. We all knew that sooner or later it would reach his heart or another vital organ. He had been feeling it for days.”

“I didn’t know,” Harry muttered in a low voice, and Fenrir suddenly understood at least part of the reason why Harry had been so upset.

“I didn’t want to burden you with this, little wolf,” he murmured softly, apologetically. “You would have been upset and worried and there was nothing anyone could have done to help him. I just wanted you to be able to focus on yourself and the baby.”

Harry nodded. “It doesn’t matter... But if I hadn’t been so stubborn and insisted on waiting another month, he would have got to meet our son and now he never will. I’m sorry, Fen.”

“I’m convinced that it was the right decision,” Fenrir said without hesitation, brushing a tender kiss over Harry’s lips. “And what’s more, it was **our** decision, little white one. You aren’t alone in this so if Bryan really harbours a grudge for not meeting our son, I guess, he would have to be angry at me as well. But somehow I can’t quite imagine him as a vengeful spirit.”

Harry made a soft huffing noise, but Fenrir could feel a bit of the tension leave his compact body and so took that as a sign of success. With careful hands, he stroked up and down Harry’s back, gliding his fingers over his ribs and then settling on his hips.

The younger man sighed softly and finally looked up at Fenrir with big green eyes, searching for reassurance and at the same time wanting to appear strong, confident and reliable. Fenrir understood that all too well.

“This sucks,” Harry commented and Fenrir couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Yeah, it does.”

“But you’ll tell me if there’s anything, anything at all I can do, won’t you?” Harry pleaded, and Fenrir found himself nodding and drawing Harry as close as possible against his chest.

For a while he just held his lover, breathing in his clean scent, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his chest, assuring himself that Harry was still here and wouldn’t be going anywhere, simply because he wouldn’t allow it. Not that Bryan had waited for his permission to die. But then again Bryan had always known that even though he was only the Beta, he was also Fenrir’s mentor and therefore almost on equal standing with him, above needing his permission for something as mundane as dying. He wanted to feel annoyed, angry even, but seemed to have skipped the first four stages of grief to go directly to acceptance.

Bryan was dead. He would stay dead, no matter how much Fenrir willed it to be otherwise. He wouldn’t come back to help out when Fenrir felt the responsibility of being the Alpha twenty-four/seven crushing him. He wouldn’t come back to offer a word of reason when Fenrir was overreacting. He wouldn’t come back to pat him on the shoulder in a way that said, “Well done! I knew you could do that!” He wouldn’t come back. End of story.

And Fenrir felt no gnawing hole in his chest, no overwhelming pain. Only a pang of sadness. He wondered whom he was trying to fool, himself or Harry. But since he was being successful, it was okay for now. Maybe he would allow himself a bit of weakness later on, under the cover of the night when Harry was fast asleep.

“We’re going to bury him now,” Fenrir finally informed Harry, running his fingers through the wild black hair. “And then keep his wake. I would like you to be there, unless you need to rest? What did Lestrange say about your health?”

Harry didn’t take the out Fenrir had offered him and while Tristan and Sawyer shovelled the grave in a hidden clearing, shadowed by a huge bolder, he sat with Chetan and Maya, not talking, just squeezing their hands and lending what comfort he could. Slowly, as the last tears were shed and dawn trickled into night, they lowered Bryan into the ground, laying him to rest and giving him back to the Earth. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

They each put a shovel of dust into his grave. No words were said safe for Maya’s whispered declaration of love. They closed the grave in silence, the undue tenderness with which they patted the earth back into place the only sign of their mourning. For now the loss was still too recent, the memory still too fresh as that words would be a source of comfort.

Fenrir took a moment to survey his decimated pack before he walked over to Maya and helped her to her feet, gently gathering her to his chest and rubbing away the tear tracks on her face. “We’ll gather some furs and then keep his wake.”

She nodded resolutely, though her lips trembled and she didn’t resist when Fenrir tucked her head under his chin, giving a sign to Remus and Sirius to get the furs. The silver-haired werewolf looked over to where Tristan had crouched down in front of Chetan, gently grasping the young werewolf’s hand and rubbing his thumb over his knuckles. Sawyer and Lin had taken the shovels back to the tool shed and now returned with several torches.

When they started to light the torches, one after the other, first Chetan and Tristan, then Remus and finally Maya went over to them and accepted one of the torches to then position themselves in a loose circle around the grave. Harry stood up as well, joining Fenrir as Sawyer handed the Alpha the last torch. With his free hand, Fenrir reached out, pulling Harry against his side and dropped a kiss to his forehead. Harry leant into his touch, slipping his slender arms around his waist, and willingly following him to his place in the circle. He accepted the big bear fur Sirius handed him, the muscles in his arms straining under the heavy weight, before he carefully sank down at Fenrir’s feet and wrapped it around himself.

“This okay?” he asked softly, looking up at Fenrir. “I don’t think I could stand for very long, but if - ”

“It’s fine, little wolf,” Fenrir replied with a smile and crouched down to pull the fur tighter around Harry. “Why would I ever object to you at my feet?” He smirked as Harry looked up at him with wide eyes.

Fenrir dropped a kiss on his forehead before he got up again, holding the torch up high and thus giving the sign for the other werewolves to follow his lead. He felt Harry’s small weight settle against his shins and while his eyes never strayed downward and remained focused on the moon, he took deep breaths, inhaled Harry’s scent and the smoke of the torch until they filled up his lungs. He relished the slight burn and the unmistakable sense of control.

A few hours into the night, he felt Harry slip off into sleep and he shifted his stance slightly to make him more comfortable. It wasn’t long before Sirius, mirroring Harry’s position against Remus’ legs, also dropped off, and he shared a brief moment of fondness with the other werewolf for their rather adorable little humans before he concentrated his thoughts on Bryan again, commending him to the Mother Moon to look after now that he wasn’t able to anymore.

The moon eventually set and as the sun just started to peek over the horizon, he threw his head back, howling out his final farewell. The others soon joined in, filling the air with their pain and grief and anger. The two humans startled awake and while Sirius changed into his dog form and sent a howl to the skies, Harry quietly slipped his hand into Fenrir’s and moved his lips in a prayer.

Gradually, they all fell silent, their heads lowered and their shoulders slumped as they trudged to their village to rest for a couple of hours on Fenrir’s orders. They quickly spread the furs on the ground and then settled down, arms thrown over waists, heads resting on thighs and hands grasping hands.

Fenrir wrapped himself around Harry, pulling the younger man’s back flush against his own chest. When he was sure that his pack was fast asleep, he tightened his arms around his small lover – over his chest, not his stomach – and pressed his lips against the shell of Harry’s ear, one single tear rolling down his cheek and disappearing in Harry’s hair.

“Never leave me!” It was barely a whisper, not meant to be heard over the gentle snuffs of breath.

“I love you, silly wolfie,” Harry mumbled, squeezing Fenrir’s hand and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “Try to get some sleep. I’ll be here if you need anything.”


	48. Awareness

There was something undeniably sweet about the way Fenrir was clutching his hand, but Harry really wished he would stop shouting. The noise was driving a wedge right between his eyes, splitting his brain in half until he could feel it pressing against his eardrums with every pump of blood. He moaned softly in protest, relishing the moment of blessed silence before another shout hit him with the force of a sledgehammer.

He had long since closed his eyes. The light had split into a myriad of tiny little needles that attacked his optic nerve, and the people hovering around him, leaning close, moving away, pointing, gesticulating, scowling, crying left him guilty, annoyed and dizzy.

He wasn’t sure what was going on exactly. He wasn’t sure that he wanted to know though it might have distracted him from the pain that was coursing through his body. But right now he had no energy left to spare to focus on anything other than breathing. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Inhaling was the worst, with spikes of pain and the feeling a glass splitters filling his lungs, but exhaling came a close second.

It had sounded so much more comfortable and easy when Healer Lestrange had explained the procedure to him, but sometime between taking down his shield so that the healer could get to the baby and Rudolphus making the first cut of the C-section, he had lost control over his magic. It had been leashed for such a long time that now it was all the more savage and volatile, and he was sure that without Tom there to absorb and soften the angry storming of his magic, it would have burnt out his body in the matter of mere minutes.

Another distressed whimper forced itself from his throat, his eyes fluttered open for a second, black spots dancing in front of his vision, and then his body gave out, allowing him to slip into blissful oblivion.

ö_ö_ö

Harry startled awake, taking in deep lungfuls of air and still feeling like he was suffocating. His hands pressed to his chest, his mouth gaping open and his magic almost completely drained.

“Moonlight!” Suddenly arms wrapped around him from behind, propping him up against a strong chest. “Shh, shh, no, don’t hyperventilate. It’s okay, I’ve got you. Nothing is wrong with your airways, you just have to realise it. Deep breaths. Shh, that’s it, that’s my little one.” Fenrir’s soothing grumble washed over him until Harry’s body uncramped and he could breathe freely again.

“What happened?” he whispered, gratefully taking a sip of water when a full glass was nudged against his lips.

“When you took down your shield so that Michael could be delivered, the magical backlash was too much for your body to handle and you passed out,” Fenrir told him, gently carding his fingers through Harry’s hair in a vain attempt to make it lie flat. “It was touch and go for a while, especially as your magic fought against Lestrange’s so that he couldn’t really help you. In the end, Voldemort pulled your magic into his own body so that we could get Michael. But of course, that weakened you even more. You’ve been out for almost a week now. Lestrange thought you wouldn’t make it.” He pressed a kiss to Harry’s forehead, lingering for a moment longer before he drew back. “Don’t ever do that again!”

Harry rolled his eyes before they fluttered close again. “’m tired. Is... Is Michael okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, he is,” Fenrir grumbled tenderly, pushing a strand of hair out of Harry’s face. “We’ve got a beautiful baby boy. Do you want to meet him?”

“Yeah,” Harry managed to say, feeling Fenrir shift from behind him, but then everything went black again.

ö_ö_ö

When Harry came to again, everything was dark around him so that for a second he thought maybe he hadn’t managed to open his eyes and was still staring at the insides of his lids. Then soft light flickered on and a familiar face loomed into his line of vision.

“Little Patronus?” David asked, grasping Harry’s hand and patting it awkwardly.

“You look... not good,” Harry observed, reaching out with their clasped hands to touch David’s cheek.

David grimaced, leaning into Harry’s caress. “Neither do you. How are you feeling?”

Harry furrowed his brow in thought, not quite sure how to answer that question. “Tired, mostly. Weak. Slightly sick to the stomach. You don’t really have three heads, do you?”

David blinked in surprise, then slowly shook his one head. “I think I’d better get Rudolphus to do a check on you. You might be running a fever.”

“Wait!” Harry stopped him, biting his lip before he continued, “Where... uh... Where’s Fenrir?”

“It’s the full moon, Harry,” David told him in a gentle voice. “He was here, with most of his pack and your godfathers, for the entire last week. Come to think of it, I don’t think he even took a nap. But they all bundled up shortly before moonrise to return to their territory.”

“Shit!” Harry cursed, sitting up and viciously stomping down the wave of dizziness that wanted to force him back down. “I have to get there. Why the hell didn’t you wake me?”

“Because you’re in no condition to go anywhere,” David answered, easily overpowering Harry and tucking him back under the blankets. “Will you please be reasonable, Patronus? Otherwise, I’ll have to immobilise you until Rudolphus can get a Sleeping Draught into you.”

“I’d like to see you try!” Harry hissed, shocked when David hit him with a Binding curse that should have bounced off without harm on his shield. “What-?”

“The Dark Lord sapped you off your magic,” David explained, sitting back down. “We couldn’t quite convince him to give it back yet. He’s reasoning that you had no means to control it while unconscious. Fact is that you can’t access your Animagus form and thus, you’ll have to stay right where you are.”

“But I can’t just sit here while my son might be fighting for his life! What if something happens? He might be hurt and no-one’s there to help him...”

“Harry, calm down,” David commanded with only a slight shake in his voice. “I’m sure Michael is fine. He has been doing great. Seems like he inherited the werewolf healing powers and didn’t need any of the potions and spells Rudolphus had at the ready. And if, against all odds, something should happen Sirius will get him here within minutes. For now, I think he’s best off with the pack, and you are best off here, in bed.”

Harry slumped unhappily, closing his eyes and trying not to read anything between the lines. “Fine.”

“Good,” David answered dryly. “But I think I’ll leave the bindings in place until I’ve come back with Rudolphus. Just in case, you know?”

“Yeah, of course, why should you trust me? I’m only your friend,” Harry muttered.

“Almost right,” David replied with a wry grimace. “Though you’re word order is slightly askew. I’ll be right back.”

“David...” Harry whined, but then gave up when the older man paid him no attention and left the Healer’s ward in search of Rudolphus.

Deprived of the possibility to move, Harry had no other choice than to wait with growing boredom for David’s return. His thoughts were running rampant though he feebly tried to slow them down, to review them in a calm, collected manner and put them into carefully labelled categories. In the end, when David returned with Healer Lestrange in tow, he felt worse than before, self-doubt, fear and sadness gnawing at him like hungry dogs.

“How are you feeling, Mr. Potter?” Rudolphus asked, already waving his wand over Harry’s body.

“Fine,” Harry said, not caring how obvious his lie would became in a few seconds.

Rudolphus hummed non-committedly, studying the runes and numbers and then resting his left hand on Harry’s forehead, his right hovering over his stomach. “According to my dates you should feel a little queasy, so I’ll see if I can adjust that, Mr. Potter. And then maybe a nice nap might do the trick.”

“Great, a nap,” Harry snapped. “You did actually study healing, didn’t you? Because from where I’m lying that seems like a pretty dumb advice.”

“Feeling a bit unsettled is not surprising, seeing as your magic shook you up rather badly,” Rudolphus continued, unperturbed.

“Try irritated,” Harry groused. “Where the hell is Tom? I want to lash out on someone who actually participates. And I want my magic back!”

“Maybe you should wait with that confrontation until you’re more up to par,” David suggested mildly. “You might need more convincing arguments than being bed-bound.”

“Oh, and you think my chances are going to improve if I can stand on my own two feet again?” Harry mocked. “I’m sure that’ll make an impression on him.”

“I was rather suggesting you wait until you have a 6 foot plus werewolf backing you up,” David offered with a roll of his eyes.

“I don’t need Fen to hold my hand,” Harry hissed, shooting angry glares at his friend. “Get Tom!”

“I’m so glad you’re being reasonable about this,” David muttered, but turned to the door nonetheless, his shoulders hunched.

“David,” Harry called out, biting his lip. “I’m sorry I snapped. That was uncalled for and I shouldn’t have. It’s just... I’m... You know?” He looked up with hope, relaxing marginally when David offered him a grimace.

“I can see that, yes,” David replied and then slipped out of the room.

Harry slumped back into his pillows, relaxing into the soothing stream of Rudolphus’ magic. “What about Michael? Is he really alright?”

“Yes, Mr. Potter,” Rudolphus reassured him. “He was in remarkably good health when we got him out. We put him in an incubator with spells to support his breathing and to monitor his heartbeat, but after a 24-hour-period of observation, we saw no reason for concern. His body completely caught up with the three months he missed in your womb.”

“Good,” Harry mumbled. “I guess that’s good.”

They fell silent, and Harry closed his eyes until he felt Voldemort’s powerful aura and heard his sure footsteps. “So, it seems Harry Potter finally decided to rejoin the living.”

“I want my magic back,” Harry declared, staring up at the tall man until the Dark Lord sat down in the chair next to his bed, much to Harry’s surprise.

“Right down to business, I always liked that about you.” Voldemort’s lips quirked sardonically.

/Now!/ Harry hissed furiously, grasping the other man’s hand and tugging viciously on the thin strand of magic that had reached out to greet him.

Voldemort’s red eyes narrowed and he gritted his teeth, but his voice was deceptively sweet. “You never were one to show the proper gratitude. You do realise, Harry, that without me, you and your precious little bundle of joy would be dead, don’t you?”

“Without you, I would never have had such a fucked-up life, so let’s not go down that road,” Harry snapped, giving another tug. “And **proper** gratitude? You wouldn’t like that...”

“Rudolphus, what are the risks involved? Might there be any repercussions?” Voldemort asked, absently pressing Harry back into his pillows.

“My Lord, I would be more concerned if Mr. Potter were not to receive his magic back,” the healer replied simply. “Mr. Potter is as stable as he is likely to get without his magic.”

“Give it back!” Harry demanded again. “Or I’ll damn well create a fucking riot in your body!”

“It’s quite exhilarating,” Voldemort mused. “To have so much magic, so much pure, untainted magic. You know of course that Dark magic is like an addiction, just one taste, one single curse, and you’ll be hooked forever. But I find that your magic gives me the same rush, even more so since the Dark Arts after so many years of constant use almost lost their appeal to me... I’m rather loath to part with it.”

Harry snarled at him, and Voldemort sighed as if this whole conversation was tiring him out. But then he grasped Harry’s hand tighter, intertwining their fingers. He inhaled sharply when Harry once more forcefully tried to take his magic back.

/Careful now, let me guide you,/ Voldemort warned, but except for the obvious hissing, his tone was almost gentle. /My magic would only harm you, if you took too much./

Harry huffed, but his hold relaxed and when Voldemort sent carefully filtered magic his way he accepted it gratefully, feeling it slowly ease the tension in his body. “Thanks, Tom. I’m not really up to fighting you on this.”

There was a soft snort, and Harry blinked an eye open at David. “I think you handled yourself rather well.”

“I’m kind of drowsy,” Harry mumbled, turning to Voldemort. “You’ll give me back all of it, won’t you, Tom?”

“I give you my word,” Voldemort replied earnestly. “And now sleep. I need you healthy.”

“Oh, shut up,” Harry answered and closed his eyes once more. “It’s too late now, I know you care.”

“But how can you be sure that I did not finally accomplish my aim of deceiving you into believing that I do?” Voldemort mocked.

Harry huffed. “David?” He reached out a hand without looking up. “Can you keep me company? Just for a while, if you’re not busy.”

“My life is humiliatingly empty,” David murmured with a wry grimace. “So no, I’m not busy and will stay for as long as you need me.”

“Got to work on that, but not now,” Harry said, and drifted off to sleep.

ö_ö_ö

“What is taking them so long?” Harry demanded in agitation, rumpling the bed sheets in his grip. “The sun rose more than three hours ago! It’s almost noon!”

“I’m quite certain there is no valid reason for you to give me a headache with your worrying,” Voldemort replied, delicately rubbing his temples. “They will be here soon and you’d do everyone a favour if you didn’t require to be sedated before that.”

Harry glared at him. “Wouldn’t make much of a difference, now would it? Seeing as you won’t allow me to leave the damn bed!”

“With that kind of mature attitude, I’m sure you will be a formidable parent. Might even surpass my dear old man...” Voldemort taunted. “If you insist on depleting your magical and physical reserves so soon after replenishing them, by all means, don’t let common sense stop you.”

“Would someone please take my side in this?” Harry demanded and crossed his arms with a huff.

“Greyback and your son will be here as soon as they can,” David spoke up soothingly, running his hand through his grey hair. “Remember that you always stayed in your Animagus form a little longer because your son didn’t change back immediately. Most likely they are only waiting for him to turn human again.”

Harry scowled angrily, but didn’t bother to argue further. He knew that he was overreacting and he felt bad for giving into hysterics because he hadn’t missed David’s winces whenever he raised his voice or made a sudden move. How had he let it go so far that he was scaring his friend? And even Voldemort had a point: he wasn’t acting mature or responsible, and earlier when his former friends had come to visit him he had quickly lost his temper and got nasty.

“So how are things with Draco?” Harry asked quietly, blinking up at the Death Eater.

“He’ll be here soon. He had some family business to take care of,” David murmured.

“That’s not what I asked,” Harry pointed out.

“It’s still my answer,” David replied simply with a quick glance at the Dark Lord. “Want some water?”

“Wow, you’re just as hopeless with smoothly changing the subject as I am,” Harry said with a roll of his eyes, but accepted the glass of water. “Shouldn’t they be here by now? Seriously?”

“I would certainly appreciate it, seeing as I have other duties to attend to as well,” Voldemort said. “I’m meeting with the Minister of Transport and Infrastructure in less than an hour.”

“Oh, how cute! Is Yaxley going to give you a slap on the fingers if you don’t show up on time?” Harry mocked.

“Actually, I reassigned positions. Percy Weasley is holding that office now. After all the destruction to streets and roads let alone all the problems that arose with the Floo system and the creation of unauthorized Portkeys, I decided the position needed someone a little more enthusiastic. Even if, of course, that also goes hand in a hand with a few disadvantages,” Voldemort remarked.

“Percy Weasley? Really? You’re not under Imperius are you?” Harry asked suspiciously.

“He’s fairly competent,” Voldemort replied. “And I can always torture him if he gets too annoying.”

“Very democratic,” Harry mocked. “So does that mean you’ll reintegrate the other ex-prisoners into society as well?”

“You mean, of course, my newest Death Eaters,” Voldemort corrected. “And as a matter of fact, I already have. McGonagall was reinstated as the Transfiguration professor; the Weasley twins opened a shop in Diagon Alley – of course with the regulation that all new products have to be approved by me. Wood... Rudolphus, where is he?”

“I sent him to scout for players for the national Quidditch team, my Lord,” Rudolphus offered. “The world championship is next year and it would not look good if we did not even muster a complete squad.”

“Fascinating,” Harry quipped, thinking vaguely that he probably should have asked the ex-prisoners about how they were doing earlier. “So what about Scrimgeour and Williamson? What respectable and socially useful task have you set them?”

“They are still in training. Obviously they required more careful re-education and observation than the others,” Voldemort stated. “Now, Longbottom, on the other hand, was charged with restoring parks and forests.”

Harry slowly shook his head. “That’s good to know, I guess.” But he had put that part of his life behind him. They no longer mattered, no longer had a place in his life and it had to stay that way if he didn’t want to reopen old wounds. And he didn’t. He wouldn’t invite them back into his life, not Neville, or Oliver or even the twins. He might miss them, from time to time, in a moment of weakness. But even if he had felt like rekindling old friendships, they wouldn’t be able to fill the void left by his two best friends.

Ron had always been hot-headed and jealous, but he had also been Harry’s first friend, loyal and protective and just as stupidly brave as Harry himself. They had told each other everything, talked late into the night about their hopes and dreams and fears. He had invited him into his family, accepted him in his home. They had been brothers in all but blood. He couldn’t pinpoint when that had changed. But Ron had always been a strategist, had always known when a sacrifice had to be made to win the game and one day he must have realised that his friendship to Harry was more of a hindrance than an asset. It hurt, Merlin, it hurt, but if circumstances had been different...

And Hermione, sweet, know-it-all Hermione, who had nagged and preached and lectured and had pulled the most amazing tidbits of information out of her hat. The smartest witch of their generation. Self-righteous and stubborn with a save-the-world attitude that had rivalled Harry’s hero complex. She had loved Ron with all her heart, and Harry couldn’t imagine what his death must have done to her.

Maybe he could. And maybe she had been just as scared as Harry when she had found out that she was pregnant. Only that she didn’t have anyone anymore to hold her hand, put things into perspective, rub her back through the morning sickness and tell her that everything would be all right. Hermione had never dealt well with unexpectedness. She needed to plan, to research, to accumulate knowledge like a protective shield against her own insecurities. But she couldn’t have done that, could she, sitting in Tom’s holding cells? So she had made the wrong choice, had traded her child’s life for her revenge. A split second of temporary insanity that had consolidated itself when she had realised what she had done. What else had there been for her to live for after that, other than revenge?

Harry didn’t want to think of their betrayal, only wanted to remember the good times: the laughter, the comfort, the quiet talks, the secret missions, the adventures, their friendship. It still hurt too much, though. Maybe one day.

Before he could think anymore on the matter, the door to the healer’s ward swung open, and Fenrir burst into the room, reaching Harry’s side within seconds. “Hey, there, little thing,” Fenrir greeted him, grinning with happiness as he enclosed Harry in his arms. “How are you doing?”

“How am **I** doing?” Harry asked, punching Fenrir’s thigh.

“I thought the mood swings were supposed to end with the pregnancy,” Fenrir murmured, trailing slow kisses over the side of Harry’s face. “I love you, sweet little wolf, and I didn’t want to leave you here, but I had to.”

“I know.” Harry sighed. “I just wish you had at least woken me up and said goodbye.”

“Yeah, well, you would have argued and you didn’t have any energy to spare,” Fenrir replied, snuffling his nose against Harry’s neck. “Strong heartbeat. Regular breathing. Magic. Good.”

Harry huffed. “I’m so glad you approve. Fen, Fen, where’s...?”

“Our son?” Fenrir offered, a huge smile spreading over his face. “Maya will bring him soon. I didn’t want to run with him and I knew you would worry if I hadn’t shown up soon. He’s doing great, moonlight, you should have seen him last night! He was running around, chasing his own tail, yapping at the moon – he’s perfect, Harry, you should have been there!”

“Yes. I should have,” Harry muttered bitterly, and Fenrir pressed another kiss to his brow.

“You’ll be there the next time, small one,” he murmured appeasingly. “I promise, and then we’ll all run under the full moon, my little white wolf... Here they come now. Ready?”

Harry nodded, biting his lip and staring nervously at the open door. After what seemed like an eternity, Maya with a small bundle of soft blue blankets carefully cradled in her arms stepped through it and approached the bed with a smile, the rest of the pack following behind her. Harry sat up eagerly, reaching out as Maya gently placed his son in his arms.

“Meet our son, Michael Greyback-Potter,” Fenrir said, resting his cheek against Harry’s temple.

Harry nodded mutely, too overwhelmed to come up with a verbal reply as he stared down at the small half-werewolf-half-wizard in his arms, wondering how this was even possible. He was a father. They had a son. Fenrir and he had created a life and somehow against all odds, Michael was healthy and ready for a happy life. It was hard to understand, hard to grasp, simply not feasible that they were their own family now, that he would be able to give his baby the childhood he had never had.

“Michael Greyback-Potter?” Harry finally asked, glancing at Fenrir.

“You said that I should choose a second name,” Fenrir replied with a shrug and a satisfied smirk. “You never said that it should be a second first name and this way, everyone will know immediately that he’s **our** son.”

“Thank you... He’s so tiny,” Harry whispered in awe, slowly pushing the blanket away to see more of his son.

“Actually, he’s very strong and healthy,” Fenrir corrected with obvious pride in his voice.

“Excuse me, but he felt a lot bigger when he was inside my belly,” Harry snapped, waking his son, who blinked up at him with sleepy golden eyes just like Fenrir’s, popped a yawn and then started to fuss. “What... What do I do? What is wrong? Is he hurt? What...?”

“Shush, Harry, everything’s fine,” Fenrir murmured, taking Michael from him and rocking him slowly. “He just wants some attention. He’s always a little grouchy after waking up, just like you.”

“Oh,” Harry breathed out, sitting up slightly to be able to peer at his son again.

Michael gurgled happily, blinking up at them and his tiny hand closing instinctively around Fenrir’s finger. His hair was just as pitch black as Harry’s and stuck up a little at the back of his head. His eyes were Fenrir’s in colouring, molten gold though maybe a shade or so darker than his fathers, but they were almond shaped like Harry’s and framed by fine lashes. His skin was a rosy pink, his cheeks chubby and his nose a little upturned.

“He’s perfect, isn’t he?” Fenrir murmured.

“Yeah,” Harry said reverently, almost shyly touching his finger to his son’s cheek and eliciting another gurgle. “Hi, Michael, remember me? I’m your other daddy.”

“Of course he does,” Fenrir answered, kissing Harry tenderly on the mouth. “The two of us have been by your side, waiting for you to wake up. He’s used to falling asleep just like this, with you in my arms and Michael resting against your chest so that we can both hear your heart beat.”

Harry nodded, once more snaking his arms around his son, though Fenrir’s hands remained to support their precious little bundle.

“Are you ready to come home, Harry?” Fenrir demanded, glancing briefly at Healer Lestrange. “How are you doing?”

“I’m fine,” Harry insisted. “I want to get out of here. Tell him that I’m fine, Healer!”

“I see no reason to keep you here any longer, Mr. Potter,” Rudolphus confirmed. “Though, I would like you come back for a follow-up for both yourself and your son in a week’s time. And of course I expect you to contact me immediately if you feel any pain, weakness or dizziness.”

“Sure,” Harry agreed, manoeuvring himself out of Fenrir’s embrace without disturbing his son, who had drifted into slumber. “We know the drill. Thanks, Chetan.”

He smiled at the werewolf, who had stabilised his slightly wobbly stance. “No problem, Harry. It’s good to see you up and about again. Gave us quite a scare when you fell into a coma.”

“Yeah, wasn’t the plan, sorry,” Harry muttered, and Chetan laughed, pulling him into a one-armed hug before releasing him.

“Happens to the best of us,” he commented lightly. “But I’m sorry you didn’t see how awesome I am as a big brother.”

“Ah, so that was a one-time occurrence, was it?” Sawyer taunted, stepping up to Harry and butting his nose against Harry’s cheek. “It was rather embarrassing to watch, you know? As if Chetan wanted to prove that he was still the most childish of the pack...”

“Hey!” Chetan exclaimed angrily while Harry chuckled. “You’re just jealous because Michael likes me better.”

“How do you figure?” Sawyer growled and it sounded so angry that Harry would have thought very carefully of how to answer.

Chetan had no such qualms. “Everyone does.” He grinned. “You’re too grumpy. Might also have to do with your snoring.”

A deep, rumbling snarl was Chetan’s only warning before Sawyer lunged at him. Harry flinched back, pressing himself back against the bed, but Chetan merely went with the impact, easily rolling back to his feet and allowing Sawyer to push him up against the wall.

“Mind your place,” Sawyer whispered ferociously. “Don’t presume on my good nature.”

Chetan slumped in his hold, his body completely lax as he gave a tiny nod. “’M sorry, Sawyer. Guess I lost my bonus as the baby of the family, didn’t I?”

Sawyer grinned at him, slowly easing up on him. “Nah, you’ll always have that. Just have to get used to sharing.”

Chetan smiled back, quickly burrowing himself against Sawyer’s chest before the older werewolf had a chance to react. “Thanks. And sorry for being cheeky, I’m just so excited.”

“I can see that,” Sawyer said with amusement. “Though, I think we might have scared Harry with that little interlude.”

“Oh, no, don’t worry about it,” Harry spoke up, pushing away from the bed. “You know, I just thought one of you might be ripped to shreds by the other, but no harm done. At all.”

Fenrir laughed. “Glad that you haven’t lost your sarcasm, little human. And you two, knock it off or I’ll show both of you your place.”

“Yes, Alpha,” they chorused dutifully.

“Good boys.” Fenrir smirked, getting up from the bed and carefully shifting his son onto his shoulder.

“Give him to me,” Harry asked, holding out his arms.

“I’ve got him.” Fenrir smiled down at him. “Why don’t you say good-bye to your friends so that we can get going.”

Harry dropped his arms, turning towards Tom, who was rifling through his papers and gathering them into a folder. Red eyes met green, and Voldemort’s thin lips quirked into a half smile. Understanding passed between them, a silent acceptance of the other’s faults and strength and even though, they would probably never be on the same page in terms of morality, Harry knew that Voldemort did care about him, in his own twisted, egoistic way.

“Well then, young Harry, you better take care of your offspring,” Tom told him. “I’ll be ruling – I mean **governing** Magical Britain, if you need me... Ah, that’s my cue.”

The door was pushed open and Draco strode in with confidence. He respectfully held the door open for Voldemort, who inclined his head at Harry, but didn’t spare a glance for the others as if they were beneath his notice.

“Have fun with that,” Harry called after him, then turned to Draco. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”

“There was a slight family situation,” Draco replied vaguely, squeezing David’s hand in passing before he moved over to Harry. “I got you a present, you and Michael.” He reached into his pocket and retrieved a filigree musical clock, handing it to Harry. “It was mine and according to my mother it always made me stop crying. I tried to find one of the Potter family, but all your baby things were destroyed.”

“Thanks, Draco,” Harry said, choosing not to comment on the fact that Draco’s words had brought back painful memories. “Still, there was no need to get me a present.”

“Obviously not, but generally presents aren’t given because one feels the pressing need, but because one wants to. I wanted to,” Draco pointed out. “Besides, it was David’s idea.”

“Really?” Harry turned to the grey-haired wizard, who shrugged self-consciously. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” David murmured. “I just wanted you to get a good night’s sleep every once in a while.”

“I want you to sleep peacefully as well,” Harry murmured lowly. “If you need me, I’ll always be there, you know that, don’t you? Don’t think you can neglect taking care of yourself just because of Michael.”

“Honestly, I’d be more worried about Greyback,” David replied in a just as quiet tone of voice.

“Well, don’t be,” Harry demanded. “Fen trusts me, don’t you, wolfie?”

“I won’t like the outcome no matter my reply, will I?” Fenrir asked with a sigh.

“Then you might just as well be honest, right?” Harry grinned impishly up at him.

Fenrir sighed again, but then answered with a decisive nod. “Yes, I trust you, sweet little wolf, but...”

“Ah, ah, ah, you don’t get to add a ‘but’ when answering trick questions,” Harry admonished and looked back at David. “See, there’s absolutely no reason for you to go hiding your problems. Michael will need his godfather in the years to come and he’ll need him healthy.”

“Godfather?” David peaked up.

“Yeah, didn’t Fenrir tell you?” Harry asked in surprise, looking at the werewolf.

“I thought we’d tell him together,” Fenrir offered.

“Oh. Oops?” Harry said sheepishly. “I thought... Well, Fen and I talked about it and if it’s okay with you, we want you and Draco to be Michael’s godfathers.”

“Really?” David asked slowly, as if already the mere consideration was too much for him.

“My godfathers have been more than important to me.” Harry smiled over at Sirius and Remus. “So I want someone for Michael who’s just as important to me, who I know he’ll be able to count on. What do you say?”

“We’d be honoured,” Draco replied, and David added a still mostly overwhelmed nod. “Thank you.”

“I wouldn’t thank him just yet.” Sirius grinned. “If Michael is anything like Harry, you’ll have your hands full. Being a godfather is not an easy job, you know? You have to be understanding, patient, supportive, responsible, discreet...”

“Then what exactly qualifies you for the job?” Remus jabbed, and Sirius very maturely stuck his tongue out at him.

“I’m sure they’ll be great,” Harry interrupted, beaming at David and carefully pulling him into an embrace. “Do we have a deal?”

“Yes,” David finally managed, his lips quirking into a real smile, still slightly askew, but with his eyes sparkling. “I’ll contact you if the nightmares become too bad or if there’s something else.”

“And I’ll get a message to you, should he fail to,” Draco added, daintily brushing a strand of silverly blond hair out of his face and then stepped behind David, who lightly leaned back against him. “We’ll come and visit in a few days, if that’s all right with you?”

“That’ll be fine,” Fenrir answered, holding out his hand for Harry. “Let’s go, little one. You must be tired and our cub certainly is.”

He didn’t wait for Harry to grasp his hand, but instead stepped forward and captured the younger man’s hand and tugged him against his side, using the new-found closeness to take a deep whiff of his scent and press a kiss to his temple. Harry sighed happily, melting into him and willingly followed him as their whole group departed to return home.


	49. Help

“Shh, I got him, go back to sleep,” Fenrir murmured, fluidly standing up to check on their wailing son.

“I wasn’t sleeping, if you hadn’t noticed,” Harry groused, pushing his sweaty bangs out of his face and brazing himself on his elbows.

Fenrir barked out a laugh, Michael protectively cradled in his arms as he returned back to the main room, and Harry wondered briefly how it was that such a loud sound didn’t deepen the baby’s distress. But then again, it seemed that Fenrir could do no wrong where his cub was concerned.

“Don’t worry, small human, we’ll finish with our activities later,” Fenrir appeased, rocking Michael, who was still crying. “I think he’s just hungry. Want to take him for a moment while I get his bottle?”

“I’ll get his bottle,” Harry said quickly, getting up and slipping on his boxer-shorts and Sawyer’s old t-shirt. “Be right back.”

Fenrir looked after him, then blew a raspberry at his son, who was staring up at him with wide-teary eyes. “Hush, cub, your papa is on the way so that we can get something in your tummy.” He rubbed his thumb softly against his son’s cheek, now grateful that he had had one or two lessons in gentleness with Harry. “And then I’m sure you’ll be very, very tired, right? So that your papa and I can reacquaint...” He asked hopefully and Michael made a happy gurgling sound. “I knew you’d understand, cub.” He grinned down at his son, wondering what was taking Harry so long.

Harry always insisted on getting Michael’s food, and Fenrir thought that might have something to do with the fact that Harry, for once, wasn’t the exception to the rule and couldn’t breast-feed their son. Fenrir had assumed that Harry would be relieved about that, given his general unease about the pregnancy, but instead he had been disappointed and frustrated. Fenrir did not look forward to telling him about Maya.  

When Harry returned, padding over to them with a bottle of warm milk, he smiled at him, accepted the bottle and while he fed their son gladly allowed Harry to snuggle into his side.

“I can’t believe how fast he’s growing,” Harry murmured.

“Just one week ago you thought he was so tiny,” Fenrir replied, gently burping their son.

“Well, he’s still tiny,” Harry pointed out. “You barely need both hands to hold him.”

“Yeah, but you’ll still need both hands to hold him while I get his nappies,” Fenrir said, transferring Michael into Harry’s arms despite his protests. “Do you have him? Good, I smell a nasty little surprise on the way.”

“Fen, wait,” Harry exclaimed, trying to stop the werewolf from leaving, but his loud voice startled Michael out of his sated drowsiness and into another crying fit. “Shi... Shoot. Hush, shh, Michael, don’t cry. Please? I’m sorry. Your daddy is going to be right back.” He rocked the little half-werewolf with undue trepidation, stopping immediately when Michael’s cries got louder and louder. “Okay, no rocking, I got it. Sorry. Shh, Michael, what am I supposed to do? Do you want some more milk, hm?”

He held the bottle back against the baby’s lips, but then thought that he’d better reheat it or he would cause Michael’s stomach to ache. But when he tried to settle Michael more comfortably against his body and tap his wand against the bottle, it toppled over and the milk spilled over their sleeping furs.

“Oh, great,” he muttered, this time remembering to keep his voice down. “Fen, I could really use some help in here!”

When the werewolf didn’t answer, he sighed and got to his feet, grimacing at the wet t-shirt sticking to his skin. He started to walk up and down, lightly bouncing and jiggling the baby with every step like he had seen Fenrir do. But somehow it didn’t have the same effect and Michael remained inconsolable.

“Mind if I give you a hand?” Help suddenly called in the form of Maya, who peeked into the hut, seeing two distressed family members.

“Merlin, yes,” Harry breathed out. “Fenrir disappeared to get some nappies or something and I... I spilt the milk and he won’t stop crying.” He huffed in frustration.

“Calm down, Harry,” Maya answered. “Michael is probably just a little colicky, nothing to worry about.”

“Can you just take him for a moment while I clean up the bed?” Harry asked hopefully. “I don’t want the milk to seep in further into the furs or it will be even harder to get them clean.”

“Sure, no problem.” Maya stepped into the hut and took Michael, cooing at him and walking up and down with him in her arms. “Sometimes, it helps if you hold him a bit more upright. This way, if he swallowed too much air while crying, it can escape more easily.”

“You’re really good with him,” Harry observed, busying himself with cleaning and straightening the furs and drying his t-shirt.

“I always wanted to have children,” Maya confessed, smiling softly at Michael. “Of course, it was never an option, but I guess I still have that mother instinct. Plus, I had some practise with Chetan, even though he was already a bit older when Fenrir brought him to the pack.”

Michael’s cries had quietened to upset sniffles and then his mouth popped open in a yawn. Harry smiled at the cute sight.

“Fenrir said that Michael would probable need to be changed soon, but he looks tired. Maybe we should just put him in bed?” Harry suggested.

Maya nodded and walked to the nursery to place Michael in his crib, just as Fenrir came back. “Everything okay? Sawyer had to show me the track of a bear he found.”

“Everything in perfect order, Alpha,” Maya replied. “I just couldn’t sleep and thought I’d check on them. Do you have the nappies? Then I’m going to change him.”

“Thanks, Maya.” Fenrir smiled at her. “You can sleep here if you want to. We don’t mind the company.”

But Maya laughed. “Excuse me, Alpha, but I don’t quite believe that. Besides, Tristan’s watch will start soon and I said that I’d keep him company... There you go, honey, all dry and happy, now sleep tight and allow your daddies some rest.”

“Rest wasn’t exactly what we had in mind, was it, little sweet thing?” Fenrir murmured, stepping behind Harry and pulling him harshly against his chest. “Goddess, you smell good.”

Maya cleared her throat, smirking in amusement. “Goodnight then, Alpha, Harry.”

“Fen,” Harry hissed, blushing in embarrassment and refusing to look up until he heard the door fall closed behind Maya. “Did you have to rub it in her face what we were up to?!”

“It’s not like she didn’t already know,” Fenrir pointed out, seemingly far more interested in mauling Harry’s neck than in their conversation. “Besides, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. I’d even go so far as to say that they’re all pretty happy that we did have sex.” He nodded towards the closed nursery door with a grin. “So how about you save your complaints for the indefinite future and I make sure to render the present as enjoyable and pleasurable as possible?”

He gently nibbled on Harry’s earlobe, careful not to break the skin or to wander any lower since he could feel the jumpy nervousness in Harry’s posture and didn’t want to startle or upset him. He tugged up Harry’s t-shirt, playing his fingers over the once again taut stomach, feeling the slight muscles rippling under his touch.

“You’re beautiful, little feisty one, you know that, don’t you?” Fenrir grumbled, pushing Harry’s boxers down over his bony hips and leaning down to press a kiss to Harry’s left buttock. “Oh, yeah, I think you know that and you just love teasing me with it, walking around with clothes after I already got rid of them. This just won’t do.”

“Wolfie, what if Michael wakes up again?” Harry protested. “He won’t be able to sleep if we’re too loud.”

“You can try to keep quiet,” Fenrir offered, unconcerned, pushing Harry over to their furs and laying him down on them, spreading him out for his eyes to feast on. “Delicious.”

“Fen.” Harry wriggled uncomfortably. “I’m not sure we should be doing this. I’m not really in the mood.”

Fenrir sighed in annoyance, hovering over Harry. “Like you haven’t been in the mood ever since Michael was born?”

“I was unconscious for more than half the time since then,” Harry pointed out dryly. “And I was in the mood earlier. I’m just not anymore.”

“Right.” Fenrir rolled his eyes. “Well, I’m still in the mood, so what do you suppose I should do now?”

“You could masturbate,” Harry offered, tugging his shirt back down and his boxers back up. “But try to be quiet, will you?”

Fenrir looked incredulously at him. “That’s your solution? For me to have a wank? What about our relationship, silly human? What’s your fix for that?”

“I wasn’t aware that our relationship needed fixing,” Harry replied, pecking Fenrir’s lips as if to prove a point. “I’m just tired, my Alpha. All this waking up in the middle of the night, after barely a few hours of sleep, it’s taking a toll on me.”

Fenrir’s expression softened and he returned Harry’s kiss with tenderness. “Of course, white wolf, you must be exhausted. Get some rest and I’ll take care of Michael if he should wake up again. Sleep, little one.”

“Thanks, Fen,” Harry murmured, snuggling close to the werewolf and draping one arm and one leg over him as if Fenrir was a huge teddy bear. “I’m sorry for being so bitchy.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Fenrir grinned. “I’m used to it.”

ö_ö_ö

“I don’t like what you’re implying,” Fenrir growled at Lestrange, who had not only dared to summon him to the castle, but now was insinuating that something was wrong with Harry; as if he wouldn’t have noticed if that were the case.

“I’m not implying anything, Mr. Greyback,” Rudolphus answered calmly. “But all the signs point to Mr. Potter suffering from postpartum depression and he needs help if he is to get better.”

“’Getting better’ like your brother?” Fenrir taunted, motioning over to the younger Lestrange, who was staring blankly out of the window, rocking his tall body back and forth.

“I don’t believe Rabastan should feature in this discussion,” Rudolphus said coolly, but with a hint of warning. “Your concern should be Mr. Potter.”

“My concern is Harry,” Fenrir growled. “He’s not **your** concern.”

“I’m still Mr. Potter’s healer,” Rudolphus argued. “And in that capacity, I’m telling you that he is depressed.”

“And how the hell would you know?” Fenrir demanded. “You haven’t seen Harry more than twice since he gave birth.”

“I have monitored Mr. Potter’s emotional state closely during the pregnancy and the follow-up examinations confirmed my concerns,” Rudolphus pressed his point. “Mr. Potter is not eating enough, he’s suffering from insomnia, he’s plagued by self-doubts and guilt and he’s overwhelmed with the situation.” Fenrir took a threatening step towards the other man, baring his teeth and curling his hands into fists. “Mr. Greyback, I understand this is hard to hear and even harder to accept, but let me ask you: Who gets up in the night when Michael cries? Who feeds him? Who gives him a bath? Who changes his nappies? Who soothes him when he cries? It’s you or one of Mr. Potter’s godfathers or one of your pack. It’s not Mr. Potter.”

Fenrir glared at him. “Are you saying that Harry doesn’t care about our son?! How dare you!” He grasped the Healer by his throat, squeezing until he heard a satisfying rattle.

“Mr. Greyback,” Rudolphus pressed out, his voice a soft wheeze. “Mr. Potter cares deeply about his son.” He took a deep gasping breath when Fenrir’s hold on him loosened. “But he has no confidence in his ability to be a parent and the fear to do something wrong is paralysing him. That’s why he skirts all the responsibilities off to you and that’s why he’s depressed. Mr. Greyback, I’m not saying this to offend you or to badmouth Mr. Potter, but he needs help.”

Fenrir narrowed his eyes, but finally released the other man completely and sank heavily into the chair in front of Rudolphus’ desk. “Fine, let’s say I believe you, why? Why would he doubt himself so much? Harry’s great when it comes to taking care of others or comforting them. He’s great with Michael.”

But was he really? Harry always tensed when he put Michael in his arms, panicked whenever their cub started to cry, he asked what to do, what he did wrong, tried to hand Michael back to Fenrir, to Maya, to his godfathers, to anyone. But at the same time he always kept an eye on their cub, watched out for him, looked at him with longing. It was as if Harry’s parental instinct was in overdrive: He worried constantly that Michael might be sick, hungry or upset; he checked on him more than just frequently, hovering over Michael’s crib when he slept and controlling the monitoring charms he insisted on; he had looked up everything that could go wrong, had practised first aid spells and had stocked up on potions, patches and bandages.

“The reasons for postpartum depression are varied and mostly unknown,” Rudolphus admitted. “But he is still very young and his own childhood was not the happiest. The birth itself did not go as we had planned, and when Mr. Potter woke up, he saw that his son had been just fine without him. I would assume that this led to some disappointment and bitterness. During these last few months Mr. Potter had your almost undivided attention and now when he feels that he really wants and needs your help and support you’re focused on his son. I’m sure you noticed in how high a regard Mr. Potter holds his own parents, his mother especially, and he might think that he has to live up to their standards. In short, he’s putting a lot of pressure on himself and feels overtaxed with the situation, and since he has no actual memories of his parents, he does not know how to overcome his difficulties.”

“Well, then I’ll just take over for a little while, give Harry time to adjust and get a hang on things,” Fenrir said resolutely, expecting this to be the end of the discussion.

“Actually, I fear such a course of action would only make matters worse. Mr. Potter might distance himself even further from his son and if you give him the impression that he’s unable to take proper care of his son, that he needs you to do it for him, his self-confidence will only deteriorate further.”

“So, what’s your grand solution?” Fenrir demanded, miffed, worried and altogether unhappy.

“I was thinking of something a little more drastic, if you will forgive the expression,” Rudolphus offered cautiously. “Let me explain. I believe that Mr. Potter is suffering from a rather mild case of postpartum depression that is, however, intensified by his lack of self-confidence. Mr. Potter needs to realise that he is fully capable of taking care of Michael and that the only thing standing in his way is his own insecurity. So, maybe we should do away with all other influences.” He looked intently at the werewolf, until realisation bloomed on Fenrir’s face.

“You want me to leave Harry alone,” Fenrir growled, his knuckles cracking. “Desert him!”

“I would suggest that you give Mr. Potter one day of absolute freedom and yes, leave him with the responsibility of caring for Michael. He will almost certainly grow with it – unless you doubt Mr. Potter’s abilities?”

“I’m not stupid, wizard!” Fenrir snapped. “ **You** told me that there were reasons to worry so yes, I’m damn well worried and I doubt that your genius scheme will work! I’m not going to risk Harry getting worse only so that you can get published with an empathetic article about his case!”

“Are you willing to risk him getting worse by doing nothing?” Rudolphus asked quietly, and Fenrir deflated a little. “There’s also the possibility of a parent-child-therapy if you would prefer it. But I have faith in Mr. Potter’s strength.”

The “Do you?” remained unspoken, but Fenrir felt it deep in his gut like a well-aimed blow. Of course he trusted Harry. The Harry he knew was strong, independent, sympathetic, caring, always cheeky and perfect in a way that was probably illegal. He trusted Harry. That Harry. But the Harry he knew would never back down from a challenge and if he was afraid of something, he would probably do it just to spite his fear. It didn’t sit well with Fenrir to believe that he had read Harry wrong all this time. It wasn’t a matter of trust.

It was a matter of if Fenrir could still rely on his instincts. And that was a crucial question because when dealing with Harry, his instincts were all he had. Harry wouldn’t tell him if he was hurt or scared or needed help, not at least without a good deal of prodding and nagging. It wasn’t malicious intent or even a conscious decision on Harry’s part, and Fenrir had accepted that a good while ago. Didn’t make his job any easier of course, but Harry made up for it.

It didn’t sit well with him that Lestrange had had to point out to him that something was wrong with Harry because he was the Alpha and he should have noticed. Not some wizard.

Of course, he hadn’t missed the fact that Harry had been more morose lately, maybe even depressed. And his eyes had looked a bit haunted, too wide, too innocent. But Harry had always been a little skittish, almost paranoid, startling at sudden noises and seeing dangers lurking in the shadows. Muscle memory, old habits, training, Fenrir understood. That was just how Harry coped, how he functioned, and Fenrir was ready to live with his quirks. Sometimes, they even amused him. And yes, he had noted that Harry’s quirks had escalated, going so far that he had started to shy away from Fenrir’s touch, started to distance himself from everyone in the pack and whenever Michael began to cry, he would wince and cower away for a moment.

But there were a million and one explanations for that. Lack of sleep, for one. Or maybe the changing back of his body had messed with Harry’s hormonal balance. Maybe he was still a little resentful that Fenrir hadn’t woken him before returning to his territory with his pack and Michael. Maybe his ears were very sensitive. Maybe Harry was just being Harry. Maybe. Maybe. He hadn’t been overly concerned in any case, had just assumed that given a little time and space, Harry would get over whatever it was and go back to normal. But now, now he was worried because under close scrutiny Harry’s recent behaviour was worrisome, and Lestrange’s explanation made a lot more sense than any of his.

But deserting Harry? Fenrir’s mind tried to come up with a term that wouldn’t sound so harsh, but he knew that no matter how he put it, Harry would see it like that. Betrayal. At least at first, but if it worked? It would be hell to try to convince Harry that he needed help, and Harry would be angry and feel insulted and humiliated. Harry would throw a fit if he suggested going to therapy. That, or he would run away. Maybe it would be best not to give Harry a chance to flee?

“Harry will be suspicious if I just up and disappear taking the rest of my pack with me,” Fenrir pointed out, tensing his muscles as he felt a sudden presence behind him.

“That’s where I come into play.” Voldemort stepped around him, casually taking the chair Rudolphus vacated for him. “I have been in contact with Marrock and other pack leaders, encouraging a conference to negotiate werewolf rights and standing in my society. Would this coming Thursday be agreeable to you?”

“That still leaves the rest of my pack,” Fenrir argued. “I can’t just tell them to refuse to help Harry when he inevitably asks for it.”

“Severus Snape is still looking for a Defence against the Dark Arts professor and according to my information, Lupin has some experience in that respect,” Voldemort ventured, arching a thin eyebrow when Fenrir growled.

“Remus is a werewolf now,” Fenrir snapped. “Not one of your kind.”

“Is that not beside the point?” Voldemort asked. “A job interview would keep him occupied, and Black could always accompany him for moral support. Whether or not he accepts the position is of little consequence.”

“He won’t return to your wizard ways,” Fenrir insisted before he continued, “I can send Tristan on some errands and have him show Chetan the outside world. But that still leaves Sawyer and Maya.”

“Will they keep their distance if you tell them how imperative it is that they do?” Rudolphus asked.

“Maya will if I explain to her why it is so important,” Fenrir answered after a moment’s thought. “But Sawyer won’t, not without me making it an express order.” Because Sawyer wanted to prove to Harry that he could be counted on, that he would be there for him. He would refuse to see Fenrir’s point.

“Could you not take Mr.- Sawyer with you to the conference?” Rudolphus asked.

“That’d send the wrong message,” Fenrir growled; he wouldn’t go to that stupid conference with his Beta in tow, making it seem as if he needed back-up.

“Perhaps he would be willing to help me with reorganizing my ward. A peaceful world calls for different medical attention than one at war,” Rudolphus suggest cautiously.

“Just swish your stick and be done with it,” Fenrir grumbled. “I don’t see how you need Sawyer and neither will he.”

“Some of my equipment is rather delicate and needs to be handled with care and without magic,” Rudolphus argued, shifting his weight from one foot to the other before straightening his spine. “I apologise if my request sounds impudent, but Mr. Sawyer strikes me as a very strong man, who would indeed be a great help.”

“I’ll ask him,” Fenrir eventually answered. “And Lestrange? If this works you should get rid of all the Misters in front of our names... And if it doesn’t, you won’t have to worry about that anymore.”

“Duly noted.” Rudolphus inclined his head. “Please tell him that I would truly appreciate his help.”

“I’m sure that will convince him, wizard,” Fenrir mocked.

“Shall we proceed then?” Voldemort intervened, twirling his wand between his long fingers and studying the sparks that sporadically burst from its tip. “I believe there are still some arrangements to be made.”

“What about Maya?” Fenrir asked.

“As a matter of fact, it would be prudent if someone were to stay and be able to intervene if absolutely necessary,” Rudolphus said. “Of course, we will put Mr. Potter under monitoring spells to alert us if there is a problem.”

“I want Harry to have a way to contact me immediately,” Fenrir stated. “I know he’ll most likely be too proud to use it, but just in case.”

“A simple spell to connect two items so that one changes if the other does should do the trick,” Voldemort replied easily. “I will also provide you with an Emergency Portkey.”

Fenrir grunted; all this talk about magic, spells and whatnot, made unease crawl over his skin. He wanted to go home, curl up around Harry, and find that this was all just panic mongering.

“So Thursday. What about the time until then?” Fenrir wanted to know, glaring at nothing in particular. Harry was suffering, he didn’t want to bide his time and wait until helping him. He wanted to make everything better **now**.

“Be supportive.” Fenrir bared his teeth at the healer. “Don’t take over Michael’s care completely, but give Harry fifteen minutes, half an hour each day just for himself, to take a shower, drink a cup of tea, listen to music or read a book.”

Fenrir gave a sharp nod, looking expectantly at the other man for some further pointers.

“Encourage him, point out things that he does well, but avoid sounding patronising,” Rudolphus cautioned. “Other than that, keep an extra eye on him and contact me immediately if you have the feeling that he might be getting worse.”

“Worse how?” Fenrir asked suspiciously.

“In the worst case, postpartum depression can end in suicide or even infanticide,” Rudolphus said softly. “But as I said earlier, Mr. Potter’s depression is mostly a manifestation of his low self-esteem and though his symptoms are cause for concern, I doubt that they will worsen so drastically within the next three days.”

Fenrir scowled, but though he would have liked to tear the healer a new one for withholding this important tidbit of information, a larger part of him wanted to go home to Harry. And so, with one last glower for each of the two wizards, he left the ward. He didn’t care that it was childish to bang the door shut.


	50. Parenthood

Thursday. And Harry looked bad. Dark circles under his eyes as if he hadn’t slept a wink, though as far as Fenrir could tell he had slept all night through. Or at least he had pretended to. Harry was nervously twisting his fingers, but when he stopped for a moment, Fenrir could see their light trembling. Harry’s eyes had never seemed that large.

“I have that teleport-thing so if you need me, I’ll be there in a second, okay?” Fenrir murmured, pulling Harry against his chest.

“I just don’t see why you all have to leave today,” Harry’s voice had adopted a whiny quality. “I’m all for Tristan and Chetan’s trip, but can’t they go tomorrow instead?”

“They have already bought the tickets to go to the cinema,” Fenrir pointed out mildly, kissing the crown of Harry’s head. “You and Michael will be fine, little moonlight.”

Harry took a deep breath, pressing closer to the werewolf. “I guess, as long as Maya’s here to help me.”

Fenrir’s heart broke a little as he told Harry that Maya would be busy looking after their small herd of sheep and taking care of her small vegetable garden, and Harry sagged.

“Fen...” he started, but then broke off.

“Brave little human,” Fenrir whispered, caressing Harry’s back. “Minnie and Hedwig are taken care of. You only have to worry about our cub, alright? And you’ll do fine. I love you.”

Harry’s head snapped up, panic written all over his face. “Wha-? You’re coming back! Right?”

“Of course, I am,” Fenrir said. “Six o’clock at the latest. I’ll be back in time for dinner, sweet one.”

He leaned in for a kiss, intending it to be gentle and full of love, but Harry pushed himself hard against his body, slender fingers snaking into his hair and tugging harshly, sharp teeth biting at his lips, until he deepened the kiss. Harry moaned, their lips meshed together and their tongues entangled, and Fenrir felt the desire flare up in his body.

“You could stay,” Harry whispered, licking his lips. “With me. I’m sure that would be more **exciting** than going to that conference.”

Harry had mastered the art of seduction, and like any master he knew that fear had no place in this game. But despite Harry carefully hiding away even the last trace of it, Fenrir could smell it on him like the sweat of a long day’s hard work tended to linger on the body even after it had been scrubbed clean. Over the course of the last weeks, Harry’s fear had permeated skin, flesh, muscle, bones and polluted them until it had become a part of him. Undeniable. And now, in spite of promising smirk on Harry’s lips, the playful flutter of his eyelashes and the daring fingers trailing over Fenrir’s arousal, Harry didn’t smell like desire. He smelled like fear.

Fenrir rested his large hands on Harry’s bony shoulders and pressed against them until Harry was forced to take a step back. He leaned down for a brief peck of lips and brushed his thumbs over Harry’s cheek.

“I’ll see you tonight, my little moonlight,” he murmured, then turned and walked through the portal before he could think better of it.

Harry had to remind himself to breathe, but even after the firm admonishment to himself not to panic, he felt his chest constrict with too little air. He was alone. But Fenrir had promised to come back and so had his godfathers and the rest of the pack. This was just one day, how hard could it be? But Harry knew it wouldn’t be hard – it would be impossible because Harry wasn’t parent material. Michael didn’t like him, didn’t feel safe with him and nothing he did seemed to make him happy. First impressions were vital and apparently Harry passing out and falling into a coma had not endeared him to the little part-werewolf.

A cry that quickly gained volume interrupted his musings, and he reluctantly directed himself towards Fenrir’s and his hut, wishing during the short walk that Michael would miraculously fall back asleep. Of course, he didn’t, and Harry slipped into the nursery, hesitated and then leaned down to retrieve the little boy from his wooden crib. Michael’s wails got louder. Biting his lip hard, he checked if Michael needed a change of nappies, but found them dry and still nice-smelling.

“Are you hungry, Michael?” Harry asked, made some shushing noises that always seemed to work when Fenrir made them. “Only one way to find out, I suppose.” He sighed, reached for Michael’s soft blue baby blanket and cradled the baby more securely against his chest. “Well, maybe there’re two, but...” A loud, indignant cry cut his rambling short. “Right, food.” Harry muttered to himself and hastened out of the hut, making sure not to jostle his precious burden.

He looked around hopefully, half-expecting Maya to come to his aid, but she remained with her back turned towards him, hunched over the small field of carrots that were growing much more enthusiastically ever since Dobby had moved into their storage hut. Not that Dobby was in there right now, or at least he didn’t show himself. He was most likely busy – hand washing his collection of oven gloves, folding paper towels or getting his ears pierced. Harry didn’t want to feel resentful because even though all the people in his life had evidently decided to abandon him all at the same time, Michael was his responsibility, not Maya’s or Dobby’s. He would have to handle this. Somehow.

He tried to think of this as just another challenge, another task, another battle in the endless series of challenges, tasks and battles he had faced during the war. Most of them had seemed impossible at the time, not only to him but to everyone around him, and yet, against all odds, he had somehow mastered them. A day of looking after Michael should not be so daunting when compared to what he had gone through already in his life. But it was, catapulting him into a vicious cycle of fear, self-loathing and doubt.

He sat down on the steps outside their hut, rested the baby against his chest and offered him a warm bottle of milk. A sigh of relief and a quick smile escaped him when Michael accepted the bottle and started to suckle.

His emotional landscape nowadays was riddled by a thousand tiny hairline fractures that divided one emotion from the other. Coming close to the edges was painful; there was no looking back, no looking ahead, so that he was stuck on that little island in a stormy sea, waiting for that painful jolt that would push him over the fracture, deepening the rift.

But for now he was safe on his little island of happiness, watching in fascination as Michael drank greedily, his tiny hands reaching up for the bottle as if he wanted to hold it himself. That streak of independence was something Harry thought Michael might have got from him, though of course Fenrir could be just as stubborn in his refusal of accepting help.

If Michael had been born in a hospital, placed in a crib between dozens of other newborns with the only thing telling them apart soft rubber bands on their tiny wrists, he might have wondered if he was really his son. But those were just his insecurities speaking, he knew. Wishful thinking. If Michael wasn’t his son, that would explain it.

But when he looked down at the little boy in his arms, he was so achingly familiar, the perfect blend of Harry and Fenrir. Except of course that Michael had inherited all of Harry’s love for Fenrir and none of the love Fenrir held for Harry. Harry refused to spin that thought any further, instead focusing on Michael, who was losing interest in his bottle, drooling milk down his chin and onto his jumper.

With a sigh, Harry held the bottle up to his eye-level, noting that it was almost completely empty and then banished it back to the storage hut for Dobby to clean and put away. He checked his pockets for a napkin and wiped some of the spilt milk away from Michael’s clothes though he didn’t clean his face with it for fear the rather coarse material might rub the baby’s skin raw.

Instead he traced his finger over Michael’s chin and carefully rested him against his shoulder as he got up. He started to walk up and down in front of the huts, gently rubbed the baby’s shoulders and waited for a burp. Only that Michael didn’t want to burp. No matter how Harry held the little boy, how he rubbed and patted his back, nothing seemed to work. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Twenty minutes. Harry lost track of time and the feeling in his arms.

“Michael, come on, please?” he murmured, earning himself a happy gurgle but still no burp. “How does Fen do this, huh? You never make him wait this long. Maybe you like being that high up? I do, you know, just don’t tell your daddy, he’s smug enough without knowing that I kind of like to be carried.” Harry bit his lip, wishing with all his might that Fenrir would come back. “Your daddy’s really good at this, isn’t he? He’s good at a lot of things. He says that sometimes he pretends; he’s good at that too. I pretend all the time, not because of you, though, you mustn’t think that. It’s not your fault. It’s mine, I just... And he noticed. So here we are, Michael, how about that burp?” he looked hopefully at the baby, and Michael humoured him by drooling on his shoulder.

Harry took a deep breath, resuming his walking for another few circles along the huts, even though he had little hope the movement would produce the desired effect. If he wasn’t so afraid of Michael getting sick, he would have given up long ago. Maybe Michael hadn’t swallowed any air; maybe he was perfectly fine without burping. But Michael always burped for Fenrir and then he fell asleep without much fussing.

He couldn’t figure out how Fenrir did it, and Merlin knew he had done enough watching and studying and silently envying that if there had been an easy answer he would certainly have found it by now. It couldn’t be something Fenrir did that Harry didn’t do because imitating Fenrir was the red line Harry was diligently following. One of the red lines because everyone else seemed to be handling Michael much better than he did and if that didn’t feel at least a hundred times worse than his uncle’s belt... Michael’s burp halted his thoughts, jolting him back into happiness.

He laughed, rubbing the baby’s back before he lifted him up in the air, eliciting a gurgle from Michael, and then rested him safely back against his chest. With carefully slow steps, he took Michael into the nursery, gently cleaned him up and changed him into his tiny pyjamas in the hope that Michael would fall asleep.

He could hardly believe his luck when Michael’s golden eyes grew heavy with sleepiness and soon closed. Harry carefully freed his hair from Michael’s grasping hands and bedded him in his crib, wedging pillows against his sides to make sure he wouldn’t roll onto his belly and be unable to breathe. He also pulled the baby blanket over Michael’s small form, tucked him in and brushed a kiss over his forehead before he tiptoed out of the room.

A Monitoring Charm and he let himself fall back against the wall, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. Silence. Peace. A sliver of success. He sank down to the floor, tucked his legs tightly up against his chest and hid his face against his knees.

But before he could really gather his strength and rebuilt his courage, a loud cry rent the air and Harry pulled himself together and rolled to his feet. He allowed himself another deep breath and then returned into the nursery to regale Michael with his limited fundus of lullabies, nursery rhymes and songs.

Some of them they had learned in their antenatal class, even though Harry had never felt comfortable enough to join in the happy choir of parents-to-be; others he had heard from the pack, especially from Maya, who loved singing to Michael. But all in all, he didn’t know many songs and could sing even fewer. Besides, he wasn’t exactly musical, and really didn’t want to be heard by anyone but his son, who clearly didn’t appreciate his efforts. Harry was developing a headache from all this crying. It sounded painful. Maybe Michael was sick? He held a trembling hand against Michael’s forehead to check his temperature, but really? He had no idea what he was doing and started another round of “You’re my sunshine, my only sunshine”. Michael was not impressed.

His little face was crunched up, big tears rolling down his flushed cheeks as he screamed out his unhappiness. His cries reverberated in the small, enclosed space of the hut, bouncing off the walls and assaulting Harry’s ears until he thought his eardrums might burst if he couldn’t get Michael to **shut up**!

It was only a second, less than that, only one single thought, but it scared Harry more than anything else ever had. He tightened his arms, dug the fingers of his right hand into his left arm hoping that the pain would ground him, but it wasn’t enough. Not enough. His vision went black and he became aware that he had forgotten to breathe. Unconsciousness sounded like a good option. Safe. He forced himself to take a breath, deep, controlled, and the black veil was pulled away from in front of his eyes. With shaky steps, he went back into the nursery, put Michael down in his bed. His hands shook as he tucked the pillows in around the baby, spread the blanket over him. Michael’s cries echoed in his brain like a broken radio, wavering in volume, distorted. He stumbled back. Closed the door on them, wishing he could close a door on his thoughts as well, on the voices in his head.

Curling up in a corner, making himself as small as possible, hiding, he waited, counted his pulse in a vain attempt to distract himself, to calm himself, to regain control. He tried to force his thoughts into well-worn trails, away from dangerous territory, tried to rationalise and see things positively.

Gradually, an unnatural calm settled over him. It was the calm that had made him the Light’s most valuable weapon, focused, deadly, ready to defend his loved ones with everything he got. And he forced himself to push it away, realising that masks wouldn’t help him anymore. He had pretended for so long, had played his role to perfection that ripping off the facade now took with it a layer of his skin, a layer of his very being, leaving him raw and bleeding. But he did it anyway because he didn’t want that life again. He was done playing hero. He was done being strong. He was done being something he was not. He was just done.

Michael didn’t need Harry Potter, the Saviour of the Wizarding World, or Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived; Michael needed Harry, his father, and though Harry was pretty sure that parenting skills were either not an inherited trait or had skipped a generation, he was determined to do his best. And if it wasn’t enough, well, then he would have to swallow his pride and ask Fenrir for help.

With a sigh, he mentally took stock of his limbs before he made an effort to get them back under his control. His arms refused to fall from where they were tightly wrapped around his upper body and he decided to give them a moment longer to come around, instead focusing on his legs, which were shaky and weak and kicked out rather than pushing Harry off the ground. Eventually, he did manage to stand up and, though haltingly, he walked to the nursery, Michael’s screams increasing in volume the closer he got.

A part of him didn’t want to open that door, that Pandora’s box. That part clearly had slept through all his years at Hogwarts, all the dangerous so-called adventures and near-death experiences and the Sorting Hat’s choice because evidently that part had not yet noticed that Harry was one stubborn, stupidly brave wizard. Harry told that part to screw itself, forced his arms to obey and entered the side room.

Michael was still screaming, and Harry felt a rush of guilt for having left him alone. But guilt wasn’t going to help anyone.

“Hey, baby boy,” Harry murmured, gathering Michael in his arms again. “Sorry about that. I needed a minute, and I know it’s not fair because you deserve a perfect father, but I don’t think I can manage that right now.” He carefully rocked the baby and thumbed away the tear tracks on his face. “I’m new to this, you see, but I guess, so are you... I really want to be a good dad, though...”

Michael hiccoughed out another cry, but then gurgled happily, one of his small hands reaching out for Harry  as he smiled. Harry couldn’t help but smile back. He touched his son’s cheek with a finger, laughing bright and sudden when his son’s tiny hand wrapped around his finger, trying to tug it to his mouth.

He brushed a strand of dark hair out of Michael’s face, leaning down to kiss his son’s forehead and smiling softly. Then, Michael erupted into another scream. Harry sighed deeply, checked his son’s nappies and upon finding them still dry and clean, threw himself into another performance of “Sleep, child, sleep.”

ö_ö_ö

Fenrir barely took a second to recover from the unpleasant sensation of having used a Portkey before he hastened towards his hut and Maya, who was already waiting for him.

“Alpha - ”

“How’s he doing, Maya?” Fenrir asked urgently. “The alarm didn’t go off, but...”

“I think he’s doing good,” Maya said with an encouraging smile. “He had a rough time to start with, but he didn’t give up. I brought him lunch three hours ago when he was just changing Michael’s nappies. He seemed relaxed, even if still a bit unsure, but definitely happy. He didn’t ask me for help.”

Fenrir released his breath, nodding briskly at the female werewolf. “Thanks, Maya. Get the others to leave us alone for a while longer when they get back.”

“Yes, Alpha.” Fenrir didn’t pay attention to her knowing smile and instead carefully eased the door open, hoping that he might catch a glimpse of Harry before the younger man noticed his presence.

The main room was empty, the sleeping furs ruffled and unmade, Harry’s wooden chest where he kept most of his clothes opened and a grey sweater decoratively draped over the edge, several books about childcare and pregnancies strewn over the fur-covered floor. But no Harry. The door to the nursery was open, though, and he could hear soft murmurs, almost like humming. He inched closer to the door, peering into his son’s room.

His breath caught in his chest. Harry was sitting on the floor, wedged somewhat comfortably between the crib, the changing table and a huge pile of furs. He was half-whispering, half-singing to Michael, who was resting safely against his chest, cradled in his arms, obviously asleep. A huge smile spread over Fenrir’s face, and he lightly rapped his knuckles against the doorframe.

Harry’s head lifted, he studied Fenrir for a moment and then brought his index finger to his lips, making the sign for silence, before he got up and carefully lowered Michael into the crib, covering him with his blanket and tucking him in. He leaned down to breathe a kiss on his son’s forehead and turned to Fenrir, motioning him out of the room.

“Don’t wake him,” he murmured, softly closing the door behind him and setting a Monitoring Charm. “I just got him to fall asleep ten minutes ago.”

“You did that, huh?” Fenrir asked quietly, tugging Harry into his arms; he was pretty sure the pride in his voice and eyes couldn’t be missed, not even by someone as stubbornly oblivious as Harry.

“Uhu.” Harry smiled up at him before resting his cheek against Fenrir’s shirt-covered chest. “You know, I’m not angry at you.”

“Oh?”

“For abandoning me,” Harry clarified.

“It wasn’t my idea,” Fenrir grumbled self-consciously.

“I know.” Harry shrugged. “But you went along with it, and I think it was... something that I needed. So I’m not angry.”

“There’s a first time for everything, it seems,” Fenrir teased, leaning down to kiss Harry.

“Hey, don’t mock me, I’m trying to thank you, here,” Harry groused, pouting slightly.

“I’d rather you thanked me in actions,” Fenrir murmured, his lips trailing along Harry’s cheek, and then drew back to look seriously at Harry, considering his slightly slumped posture that spoke of an accomplished tiredness, his flushed cheeks – not a fever, no? – his open, happy eyes. “You worried me.”

“I was scared,” Harry admitted in a whisper. “So damn scared.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Fenrir made sure not to sound accusing.

Harry snorted derisively. “I guess you understand better than most, but still you have no idea what it is to fight in a war. You don’t know how it is if your decisions are judged depending on how many lives were lost because of them, if everything hinges on you. You keep on fighting or order an escape as a last resort, those are acceptable options. But giving up or admitting defeat? Admitting that you don’t know everything, that maybe, just maybe, you could use a little help? No way. If I had told you, I would have admitted that there actually was a problem. That...”

“It would have made you vulnerable?” Fenrir offered, and Harry nodded.

“Yeah, that. I know, I promised not to keep such things from you.” Harry looked contrite now, peering up at Fenrir through dark lashes; he also looked undeniably beautiful. “But I... I don’t really have an excuse. I’m sorry.”

“That’s enough for me,” Fenrir murmured, kissing Harry’s temple. “You’re the only one who has such high expectations on you.”

“I just really wanted to be a good father,” Harry whispered, biting his lip and avoiding Fenrir’s gaze.

“You’re allowed to make mistakes. You don’t have to have all the answers, I don’t have them, either, sweet one, and I’m much older and already helped with Chetan’s upbringing,” Fenrir argued, pulling Harry closer against his chest. “I know that’s not what you want to hear, but you’re bound to fuck up, little wolf, sooner rather than later and often rather than just from time to time. But that doesn’t matter because you love our son. We’ll try our best, together, and we’ll make mistakes and we’ll learn from them. That’s all there is to it, moonlight, there’s no ready-made solution.”

“I wish there was,” Harry mumbled.

“I know,” Fenrir said. “But when have you ever chosen the easy way?” He grinned, relieved when he got a wry smile in reply. “Do you want to tell me about your day?”

Harry studied him carefully, but gave a shy nod and allowed Fenrir to lead them over to their bed. When Harry was cradled protectively between Fenrir’s strong legs, resting lightly against his chest, Fenrir pressed another kiss to Harry’s forehead. His hands wandered over Harry’s once again flat stomach and his sides while Harry’s soft voice washed over him, sometimes sad, sometimes happy, sometimes desperate and sometimes proud.


	51. Patience

A while after Harry had trailed off, Fenrir’s hands became more audacious, his lips began to quest along Harry’s cheek and he tumbled them down on their furs, bringing Harry under him. The younger man moaned, arched into his touch, wrapped his legs around Fenrir’s waist to rub their arousals together.

“How come you get more beautiful with every day?” Fenrir murmured, working on pushing Harry’s jeans over his hips.

“Maybe you just get more delusional with every day,” Harry offered mockingly, quickly unbuttoning Fenrir’s shirt.

“You’re definitely more beautiful than the last time I saw you,” Fenrir declared firmly, grasping Harry’s sweater and tugging it over the Animagus’ head.

From the cavernous darkness of Harry’s clothes, Fenrir could hear an indelicate snort. “I could take that as an insult, you know? The last time you saw me naked I was very, very pregnant and considering how loudly you always advocated how breathtaking and not fat I was then, you saying that I look better now is kind of contradictory.”

“Don’t be difficult,” Fenrir grumbled, claiming Harry’s lips in a kiss. “Pretty little wolf, you’re mine now.”

“Maybe I’ve always been yours,” Harry mumbled, running his fingers through Fenrir’s hair. “That’s a bit too sappy for me, though.”

“I like it when you’re sappy,” Fenrir admitted, relaxing into Harry’s loving touch. “Means that you’re not only using me for sexual gratification.” He grinned.

“Hilarious,” Harry taunted, moving to straddle Fenrir’s waist. “Didn’t know you were a closet-romantic. Can’t we just have sex? I want to feel you.”

Fenrir growled lowly, pushing up to kiss Harry and wrapping his arms tightly around Harry’s waist and over his back to draw him flush against his chest. Harry slung his arms around Fenrir’s neck, and began to kiss along the werewolf’s throat while the latter slowly pressed a finger into the younger man. Harry groaned, threw his head back.

There was knock on the door before it was hastily thrown open, and Fenrir threw himself around, buried Harry underneath him. Only then did he turn towards the intruder with an angry roar.

“Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to... Harry, you need to come. David, he...” Draco had turned halfway around, speaking to the wall. “He panicked. I can’t get him to calm down.”

“I’ll be out in a minute,” Harry answered, already pushing out from under Fenrir and reaching for his clothes as the door closed behind Draco.

Fenrir dropped back onto the furs with a frustrated huff, staring up at Harry. “Do you have to?”

“I’m sorry,” Harry mumbled. “I really am, but...”

“I know.” Fenrir sighed, sitting up and shuffling for his own jeans. “Just bad timing I guess.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry repeated, meeting Fenrir’s lips in a kiss. “I’ll make this up to you, okay?”

“You bet you will.” Fenrir grinned, slapping Harry’s bottom. “Now run along. I’ll look after Michael.”

“Thank you!” Harry replied gratefully. “You’re great. Love you!”

With that, he was out of the door where Draco was pacing impatiently. It was only then that Harry noticed the bloody gash that split the side of Draco’s dress shirt and the blossoming bruise on his jaw.

“Draco, what happened?” he demanded, taking the other young man by the arm.

“I don’t really know.” Draco shook his head lightly and bit his lip. “We were just... I mean... I don’t understand... David, I left him alone... We need to get back, we...”

“Draco, calm down,” Harry stopped him. “I need to know what happened to be able to help David. I’ll apparate as soon as you tell me where he is and what upset him.”

The blond took a deep breath, visibly composing himself. “David was rather stressed out, because of your... unease around Michael and when it looked like you had pulled through, we were both very relieved.”

“We had surveillance on you,” Fenrir interjected, appearing in the door of the hut.

“I guessed as much,” Harry said, not happy but understanding the necessity. “What happened then?”

“One thing led to another.” Draco looked at his feet for a moment. “We kissed, made out would be more fitting a term, and he was fine. I swear he was fine. He had his hand under my shirt and everything, and then, I don’t really know. I guess I pushed him too far or did something that reminded him of what happened in Azkaban, all I know is that one moment we were kissing and the next, he was pushing me away, punching and screaming and... I tried to calm him down, but he drew his wand. I barely dodged a Killing Curse, Harry. I don’t know how to reach him... I don’t...”

“It’s okay, Draco, it’s gonna be okay,” Harry soothed, briefly meeting Fenrir’s eyes. “Why don’t you stay here for a while? Let Remus have a look at that cut and take a few deep breaths. I’ll look after David.”

Draco gave a jerky nod, tugging his shirt away from the bleeding cut at his side and grimacing in pain. Fenrir motioned Maya over to their side so that she would accompany Draco over to the fireplace since the blond wizard looked a bit pasty and he didn’t want him to faint and distract Harry.

“Little one.” Fenrir turned to Harry, taking him by the shoulders to stop him from apparating. “Be careful. I know Travers is your friend, but he’s dangerous right now.”

“I know.” Harry nodded, resting his cheek briefly against Fenrir’s chest. “I’ll be careful, I promise, but I know him and I have my Animagus form. And if all else should fail, I have great shields and one hell of a stunner. I’ll be fine.”

Fenrir studied Harry carefully, leaned down to breathe a fleeting kiss over Harry’s lips and finally released him with a nod. Harry disapparated with a sharp crack, leaving Fenrir feeling bereft and cheated.

ö_ö_ö

Harry, in his Animagus form, carefully nosed the door open, jerking back with a wounded yowl when a curse splintered into the door and made pieces of wood explode around him. He started howling and yapping, hoping to draw David’s attention, but fell silent every once in a while to listen attentively. David wasn’t screaming, he wasn’t shouting, but Harry could hear suppressed sobs, hitched breaths and the whispering rustle of clothes being bunched together. It didn’t sound like he was calming down.

There weren’t many options to ponder and waiting for David to calm down on his own didn’t sit well with Harry. With a mental apology to Fenrir and after a deep breath, Harry pushed the door even further open and slipped into the room, using David’s worn furniture for cover and dodging an unknown curse that shot in his direction. Gathering his strength and courage for a moment, he then leaped clean over the back of the sofa and ran right up to David, who had pressed himself into the small gap between his desk and a high bookshelf. He nudged David’s wand aside just in time to avoid another hex and crashed into the Death Eater, touching his cold nose to his cheek and licking a wet stripe over the side of his face. Slender arms reached up, wrapped desperately around his neck while strong hands fisted on his fur and he was pulled hard against the Death Eater. First hurdle.

Now that he had established physical contact and since he was in his wolf form and didn’t have to find places where he could touch David without sending him into another panic attack, skirting back at the first tremble of muscles tensing, he could work on slowly drawing David out of his nightmares and making him realize that whatever had set him off wasn’t as bad as all that. David nearly cut off his air supply with the desperate choke hold around his neck, and he pushed and wriggled until he could rest his chin on David’s shoulder, taking the pressure off his windpipe.

“No!” It was the first coherent word that burst through the muted sobs and it hit Harry’s fine ears with enough force to make him wince. “No.”

Harry whimpered, pressing even closer and lightly thumping his tail. David clutched tighter to his fur, making a small choking noise that sounded as if had wanted to scream but decided against it in the last moment. The younger man wanted to scream himself, wanted to curse and shout out the unfairness, wanted to hurt those who had reduced David to this miserable mess.

“Little Patronus.” Second hurdle, David recognized him.

He remained in David’s desperate hug for a while longer, until the older man’s breathing had almost evened out, and then started to wriggle and twist. Finally, David released him, and Harry gently nipped his robe sleeve to make him stand up, knowing that being cramped in such a tiny space couldn’t be comfortable. With infinite patience and a matching amount of insistence, he managed to herd David over and onto the sofa and even found a surprisingly soft and expensive-looking blanket to tug over him. Then, he jumped onto the sofa himself, sent David a wolfish grin and draped himself over his lap.

David’s hands were still shaking as his left hand found its way back into Harry’s fur and his right tightened around his wand to summon a bottle of firewhiskey. Harry growled disapprovingly, whereupon the Death Eater held the open bottle out to Harry to offer him something. The sharp liquor caused an unagreeable tickle in his fine nose and he sneezed. David withdrew the bottle, then tilted it back and gulped down the burning liquid, only stopping when already half of the whiskey was gone.

Harry didn’t expect David to curl up again, folding himself into a corner of the sofa and almost strangling Harry between his arms. He was still shaking like a leaf, but his voice was surprisingly even, emotionless when he started to speak. Harry didn’t like it.

“We were kissing. His lips felt so good on mine and I could still feel how he was holding back. He’s always holding back, no unannounced touch, no bare skin, no loud noises, no demands. And then I freaked out.” Harry lifted his head as well as he was able to, looking in askance at the older man. “It was nothing he did, absolutely nothing, but I shifted and that sharp pain shot through my leg. That was all it took.”

Harry yipped, running his tongue over David’s hand that was still clutching the alcohol. David spread his fingers before absently ruffling Harry’s fur. A fleeting grin lifted his lips at Harry’s rumbling purr and he stretched out his legs a little to accommodate the white wolf on his lap.

“When they broke my leg... the very first time it happened, Merlin, I was so **fucking** surprised. I mean we were all under shock, one day we were all but celebrating victory and the next, the Dark Lord was gone and Aurors were raiding our family homes and dragging us to Azkaban. And then...” David squeezed his eyes shut. “They were my friends; I considered them my **friends**. I went to Hogwarts with them, trained with them... killed with them.”

Harry shuddered, whimpering in sympathy, and David’s fingers skirted over the tips of his ears. “None of us was innocent, but I thought we were on the same side... Draco is okay, isn’t he?” The white wolf gently licked over his fingers and gave a small nod, whereupon David breathed a sigh of relief. “Good, that’s good. I wasn’t thinking clearly...”

Harry thought that from the state of the room that much was pretty obvious and commented David’s statement with a roll of his eyes before he rolled onto his back in a clear request for David to rub his belly. “The funny thing is – it’s not funny I guess, but... – if Dolohov had asked,” - He snorted derisively and took another swig of whiskey - “I probably wouldn’t have said no. We had sex before, between missions, to relieve the pressure. Not that I liked him all that much, but I just... don’t get why he decided to take by force what I had offered before. Sick bastard.”

Harry yipped in agreement, thumping his tail at the slender fingers running through his soft white hair.

“The others just went along with it because they could, because it wasn’t them,” he spat out angrily, tiredly. “I can still hear their bawling as they egged each other on. They took turns, you know? And it never seemed to end, again and again and again... At first I fought, I was desperate, I was angry, and I kicked and punched and bit and scratched, but then after a while... I pleaded with them, I fucking well pleaded with them and they just laughed and - ” He broke off, his fingers painfully twisting in Harry’s fur, as he took a shuddering breath. “I just wanted it to stop. I still want it to stop.”

Harry whimpered in sympathy, licking David’s arm that lay next to his head, and trying to convey that it was over, that no one would hurt him ever again, that he was safe, but he knew that David didn’t believe him.

“You know, I think I’m calm enough now,” David muttered after a while of silent physical comfort. “You can change back to human.”

With an unwilling growl, followed by a few more seconds to enjoy the sensation of skilful fingers stroking his belly, he kicked out his legs to gain enough momentum to roll from David’s lap and land on the floor. He shifted into his human form and remained crouched long enough to summon his clothes that had remained in the corridor.

“I was enjoying that, you know?” he grumbled while he slipped into his boxers and t-shirt.

David shrugged, a small grin flitting over his face. “Sorry.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Harry replied generously. “Fen would have thrown a fit, anyway.”

Clothing back in place, he plopped back down on the sofa and reached for the bottle of whiskey. “Does this help?”

“Sometimes,” David answered, shrugging again. “Doesn’t seem to be helping today.”

“Then you might just as well spare your liver,” Harry concluded, putting the bottle aside. “Plus, I’d rather speak with you when you’re not drunk out of your mind.”

“I’m not sure what you can say to make this better,” David mumbled. “I mean I had some hope that maybe I’d overcome this and be able to move on, but now it’s all in shambles again.”

“I don’t think you give yourself enough credit,” Harry said after a moment, crossing his legs under his body. “So you had a setback, so what? I know you want your fear to just up and vanish, but we both know that’s not very realistic.”

“That’s encouraging,” David snapped, glaring down at his hands.

“I think it is,” Harry replied with a gentle smile, twining their fingers together. “You’re expecting a lot, too much, and thus, you don’t see all that you’ve already accomplished. But tell me, when’s the last time you had a nightmare that made it impossible for you to go back to sleep? How often do you have panic attacks? Do you enjoy Draco’s touch, his kisses or are they just reminders of what was done to you?”

The older man slowly lifted his head, then rubbed his free hand over his face. He didn’t say anything and Harry didn’t expect him to.

“You might not have noticed, but I have,” he continued softly, squeezing David’s hand. “You’re getting better.”

“Maybe you just haven’t witnessed one of my episodes lately because you were preoccupied with the pregnancy and the baby,” David muttered and he wished it hadn’t come out as bitter as it had. “You’re not as often at the castle as you used to.”

“Ah, you’d think so.” Harry grinned. “But I’m not the only one under surveillance.”

“What?” David swivelled around to glare at him.

“Come on, you didn’t really expect me not to keep an eye on you, did you?” Harry teased gently. “Well, more than one eye actually. First, there’s Winky, who’s been making sure that you eat enough and don’t drink yourself into an early grave. I think she replaced some of your liquor with water... And Draco has kept me updated about your progress as well, and he sees it as well, you know? And additionally, I have wards on your rooms that tell me if someone is trying to break in or is loitering outside of them.”

“No monitoring inside my rooms?” David asked in surprise.

“Of course not!” Harry answered immediately. “That would be a violation of your privacy.”

David laughed. “I’ve missed you, little Patronus.”

“I’ve missed you, too.” Harry returned his smile, resting back against the sofa. “But next time, you might want to just swing by for a visit instead.”

“What if he grows tired of waiting for me to get my act together?” David asked, stowing away his wand in his sleeve and then shaking it back into his hand with a casual twist of his wrist. “With his family’s connections, his wealth and his good looks, he has all the options in the world. Why would he...?”

“I think maybe you’re doing Draco an injustice by reducing him to what he is, and what he has and what he looks like,” Harry said softly. “You know, in school I thought that was all he was. A Malfoy. A spoilt brat. A good-looking playboy. But either he has grown up, or I simply started to acknowledge his good qualities without Dumbledore’s winkers.”

“You don’t need to convince me that Draco has a lot to offer,” David muttered.

“Oh good, because complimenting Draco was never on my to-do-list.” Harry grinned.

“But what do **I** have to offer **him**?” David demanded. “He’s way out of my league. At best, I’ve been an amusing pastime for him, but he won’t hang around for much longer.”

“So we’re back to you not giving yourself enough credit.” The younger man sighed. “David, you’re great and even if you don’t see that, Draco does. He’s absolutely smitten with you. He talks about you all the time. He laughs at all your jokes. He can’t keep his eyes off of you and stares longingly at the door if you’re not in the room. Being in love doesn’t get more obvious than that... Besides, you don’t waste half a year on someone you think of as only ‘an amusing pastime’.”

“But - ”

“Look, David. I could tell you all the things that I like about you, but I doubt you would believe me anymore than you do Draco. And I know he always has a compliment ready for you,” Harry murmured softly.

“I guess not,” David agreed with a sigh. “I just want...”

“You want more. You’re realising that you’re falling in love with him. And you’re afraid of getting hurt if he loses interest or doesn’t return your love, so you think it might be safer to just end it now. Am I right?” Harry asked.

“Almost. Only that it’s already too late for me. No strategic retreat will save me now,” David replied, glancing at the younger man. “I don’t want Draco to turn into one of my monsters.”

“David...”

“You can say it’s not rational. I know that. But I also know that I just can’t go through something like that again. Not ever.”

“I’ll never allow that,” Harry said it clearly and slowly, enunciating each word carefully.

“You can’t promise that,” David protested, running his hands through his grey hair.

“I can now because now I have reinforcement, and as long as you’re still a little unsure I’ll trust Draco in your stead,” Harry insisted, resting an arm around the other man. “I trust him to take care of you, to love you, to protect you; to stick around even if the going gets rough. And I think the two of us will manage just fine to keep you out of harm’s way.”

David sighed, leaning against Harry. They fell silent, resting against each other as Harry slowly carded his fingers through David’s hair.

“So you don’t think I should make some grand gesture?” David ventured finally, glancing at Harry.

“Is that what this was all about?” Harry asked gently. “Did Draco know about this?”

“He hasn’t told me that he loves me in almost a week now,” David muttered. “I just... got nervous, I guess.”

“Which of course is the perfect starting situation for facing your fears,” Harry replied, gently mocking. “Come on, David. We’re going to see Draco and he can tell you if he still loves you. Get up!”

David groaned, scowling lightly when Harry nudged him into the side. “I’d rather sulk for a while longer, if you don’t mind.”

“Sorry, I’m fresh out of kid gloves.” Harry chuckled, nudging the Death Eater again. “Besides, if you really don’t want something you can tell me. You know that right?”

“Of course I know,” David replied gently, getting up and stretching his tired muscles. “You’re my patronus.”


	52. Recovery

David’s steps got shorter the closer they got to the portal and Harry indulged him by slowing his own pace.

“So... everything went well with Michael today?” David asked softly, kicking a small rock out of his path.

Harry laughed. “No, not at all. If Fenrir hoped that one day with my son would miraculously cure my self-esteem issues and my utter lack of parenting skills, I’m afraid he’s going be disappointed. But maybe I found my basis.”

“Sounds good,” David offered. “Harry... I’m happy for you. I don’t think I ever told you that.”

“Thank you.” Harry smiled, nudging his shoulder against David’s. “Now, deep breath and through the portal. Courage!”

“Right,” David muttered sarcastically and pushed Harry through the portal in front of him. “I prefer the Slytherin method. Hiding behind your back.”

“I don’t think that’s going to work for you,” Harry murmured, nodding towards the tall blond who was almost sprinting towards them. “You want me to give you a moment?”

“No, stay,” David demanded, but took a half step to the side. “Draco...”

“Love,” Draco exclaimed, gently grasping David’s hand but keeping an arm’s length between them. “Are you feeling better, love?”

“Did I hurt you?” David asked, noting the cut in Draco’s shirt.

He pulled the younger man closer, lifted up his shirt and tickled his fingers over Draco’s smooth skin.

“Don’t worry. Professor Lupin still had a Healing Draught,” Draco said with a smile. “So I’m as good as new. I’m sorry - ”

“Don’t, Draco. This isn’t your fault, not at all,” David interrupted him. “My leg hurt, that’s all.”

“Have you taken something against the pain?” the younger man asked, also glancing at Harry. “Do you want to sit down?”

“I’m fine.” David grimaced a little. “But we could sit down and talk.”

“Of course. I’d like that,” Draco replied, tugging carefully on the older man’s hand. “Mr. Greyback is waiting for Harry though so we should swing by the pack. You want Harry there for moral support, right?”

David nodded gratefully and their small group slowly proceeded towards the centre of the werewolf camp. Sawyer, Tristan and Chetan had returned from their outings and Chetan was talking animatedly about what they had seen and experienced, gesticulating wildly and producing laughter and amused looks. Maya was stirring in a large pot that was bubbling over the fire, and Tristan was tending to roasting the wild boar, turning the skewer in a slow rhythm. Fenrir was finishing with feeding their son and was looking expectantly in Harry’s direction.

“Hey,” Harry said softly, dropping to his knees in front of Fenrir and Michael, first pressing a kiss onto his son’s forehead and then softly brushing his lips over Fenrir’s lips.

“Hey yourself,” Fenrir grumbled, pulling Harry down next to him and burying his nose for a moment in Harry’s neck to take a deep breath. “You’re okay.”

Harry nodded even though it hadn’t been a question, wiping a drop of milk from his son’s chin. “David calmed down fairly quickly.” He threw a smile over his shoulder at the Death Eater, who was hovering uncertainly at the edge.

“You were gone almost two hours,” Fenrir argued, taking another sniff.

“One and a half,” Harry corrected, nuzzling Fenrir’s cheek. “But we’ve still got to talk a bit more so I’ll see you later?”

“No,” Fenrir snapped, and Michael pulled in a hitching breath in preparation. “He’s calm again, right? No longer a threat to society or to himself. I’m happy about that. Ecstatic. But today was supposed to be about you, about Michael, about **us**. So too bad if he still needs a psychiatrist; you’re not available.”

“Do we have to fight about this?” Harry asked in annoyance, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Not at all. Just leave your tight butt parked right here, shut up, eat something and look pretty,” Fenrir retorted with a tight smirk. “I’ll be as docile as a lamb.”

Harry couldn’t quite contain his grin. “Good thing I’m more into wolves. See you later, my Alpha.”

He made to get up, but just as he straightened his legs, Fenrir gave a low growl and lunged at him, somehow managing to keep Michael secure against his chest, his small body resting on Fenrir’s broad forearm and his head cradled in Fenrir’s large hand. Harry wasn’t that lucky. Even though Fenrir had snapped out his free hand to catch most of his weight, Fenrir’s muscular body buried him beneath it, effectively pinning him to the ground and forcing the air from his lungs with a an uff.

“Hey!” Harry exclaimed angrily when he had caught his breath. “I’d thank you if you could refrain from pulling such stunts with my son in your arms. You’ll give him whiplash.” Michael made his gurgly baby laugh. “Well of course, you’d be on his side.” Harry grumbled unhappily, feeling a smile tug on his lips when Michael let out another gurgle.

“This here is your son,” Fenrir’s voice was a deep growl as he gently bedded Michael on Harry’s chest. “He’s your priority. Not Travers, not Voldemort, not anyone else. They can look after themselves; he can’t. And he shouldn’t have to. Do I have to explain this to you? Because I will, I’ll show you statistics and draw little pictures with speech bubbles and tell you sad stories about children who didn’t get to spend enough time with their parents until you get it in your thick skull that he needs you. He needs both of us, but I think he’s seen more than enough of me these last few weeks while you were dealing with your inner demons. And that’s fine, that’s okay. I don’t blame you for needing time to adjust, but I’ve had enough of you running away. You’ll spend time with your son, whether or not Travers is having an emotional meltdown.”

“Geez, take a breath,” Harry mumbled, wrapping his arms around Michael’s tiny body.

“I mean it, Harry,” Fenrir snapped. “I won’t be your baby flap anymore. You can’t just drop him off with me whenever you feel like doing something else. Take some responsibility.”

“Ouch,” Harry commented, pressing his lips into a thin line.

“Little one...”

“No, I get it.” Harry jerked his head in a nod to confirm his own words. “If you’d get off of me now?”

“Come on, sweet little human, I...” Fenrir trailed off when Harry non-too-gently bumped a fist against his chest and got off of the younger man.

“I wasn’t going to drop Michael off with you,” Harry said, carefully resting the small half-werewolf against his chest so that he had one hand free to brush of his jeans. “I was going to ask you if I could take him with me before you got all up in my face.”

He turned to go, but Fenrir grabbed him by the arm, carefully pulling him back. “You can’t leave me like this, moonlight, looking like a fool just because I wanted to spend time with you and Michael and said some harsh things in the heat of the moment. I don’t want this day to end with you not sleeping in my arms, little white one.”

“I won’t get an apology, will I?” Harry asked rhetorically, turning in Fenrir’s loose embrace to meet the other man’s golden eyes.

“Afraid not,” Fenrir replied softly, ducking down to kiss the younger man. “But I’d be more than willing to make it up to you in kisses and other non-monetary values.”

“I just bet you would,” Harry muttered, but leaned forward against Fenrir’s chest to press a kiss over his heart before he turned around. “Come on, Michael, we’re going to talk with Uncle David and Uncle Draco about a lot of stuff for which you’re much too young.”

“I can take him,” Fenrir offered, reaching out to them again.

“Nah, we’ll talk code. It’ll be fun.” Harry laughed. “And you better watch it, my Alpha, that almost sounded like you admitted to making a mistake earlier.”

Fenrir grumbled unwillingly. “One hour. Just because you’re not pregnant anymore doesn’t mean you get to skip meals.”

“Aye, sir,” Harry called over his shoulder and then turned to David. “Inside or outside?”

“Just somewhere private,” the Death Eater murmured, falling into step with Harry.

“Then inside,” Harry replied, gently bumping Michael on every step towards their hut. “Because you’re daddy has really fine ears, doesn’t he, Michael?” Michael gurgled happily, grabbing for Harry’s hair and drooling on his shoulder. “Good thing you’re cute,” Harry murmured, motioning Draco and David into the hut and then closing the door after himself.

“You can conjure up some chairs,” he told them. “You want something to drink? Something non-alcoholic.” He sent David a teasing glare, rubbing Michael’s back.

“In that case, no, I’m good,” David replied, sitting down heavily on the worn-looking armchair he had conjured up and completely disregarding the inviting, cream-coloured loveseat Draco had charmed into the room.

“I’ve done without alcohol for more than half a year, you’ll survive a few hours,” Harry answered drily before turning to Draco. “What about you? Can I get you anything? You know, Dobby would probably be thrilled.”

“I’d like a cup of tea, if it’s not too much trouble,” Draco offered and seconds later a small table puffed out of nowhere in front of Draco and a teapot with steaming hot water, three large, mismatched mugs and a wide assortment of different teabags appeared on it; another loud plop heralded the arrival of a large platter with biscuits and scones. “Thank you.”

Michael, however, hadn’t been amused by the loud, sudden noises and had started wailing, his eyes squeezed shut, his mouth gaping open and his whole face scrunched up in displeasure. “Shoot,” Harry mumbled, kissing his son’s forehead and then rocking him in his arms until the little boy’s cries quietened to small hiccupping breaths.

“I see you had some practise,” David stated.

“Didn’t make me perfect, though.” Harry rolled his eyes. “So, David, you had a question for Draco...”

Draco perked up immediately, putting down his tea cup and giving David his full attention. The older man scowled and crossed his arms over his chest while his gaze was fixed on the floor.

“David?” Harry prompted. “I don’t think you have anything to be afraid of.”

“And I don’t think naivety is the thing for me,” David retorted.

“Of course, fear is so much better,” Harry taunted, smiling when Michael burped softly. “So what do you think will happen? I mean there has to be a reason you’re afraid, right?”

David sent him a look as if saying that the answer should be more than obvious.

“No, David. This has nothing to do with you being... with what happened to you,” Harry argued, reconsidering his word choice at the last moment; Michael’s first word was not going to be something so horrible. “We’re not talking about the physical issues of your relationship.”

“We’re not?” Draco asked, sounding lost.

Harry arched his brows expectantly, staring at his older friend, who sighed. “No, we’re talking about whether or not you love me. Do you?” His voice had grown softer with every word, and though he glanced up at his young partner for the question he looked away immediately again.

Draco didn’t hesitate, slid to his knees and carefully grasped David’s hands. “Yes, I do. I love you, David. And I know you’re not ready to return my feelings yet, but I’m fine with that because knowing that my presence makes you that little bit happier, at least most of the time, is enough for me. It always will be.”

“But then why didn’t you...” David trailed off, looking appealingly at Harry, but Draco had already realised what the problem was.

“Why haven’t I said that I love you as often?” Draco asked, and David nodded in relief. “I thought it was obvious.”

David peered up at him in askance.

“You felt pressured, uncomfortable,” Draco replied, tenderly tracing the fine bones in David’s slender hands. “I saw you wince, close your eyes, turn away – I just didn’t want to be the cause of your unease so I bit back on declarations of my love.”

“Oh.”

“That doesn’t mean, however, that I love you any less,” Draco insisted, pressing a kiss to David’s knuckles.

“I thought you were trying to tell me something,” David murmured as Harry ducked into the nursery to put a sleeping Michael into his crib. “That your patience was running thin.”

“No, love, if at all, I was trying to tell you that I’m willing to follow your lead on this.” Draco smiled, taking advantage of the moment of privacy to bring his lips within kissing distance of David’s; the older man hesitated briefly, but then sealed their lips and even reached out to cup the younger man’s smooth jaw.

“Thank you,” David whispered resting his forehead against Draco’s. “But... Your parents can’t be happy about this.”

“They’re not,” Draco admitted, sighing deeply. “They’d prefer if I got married to Pansy Parkinson and procured an heir to secure the Malfoy family line as soon as possible. Father thought this would only be a short fling and Mother suggested that I could always continue my relationship on the side if it meant that much to me. But that’s not what I want, so I offered to rescind my title as the Malfoy heir.” David took a startled breath, but Draco smiled. “I think that was the first time my father looked at me with respect and he didn’t accept my offer.”

“And then?” David asked hesitantly.

“Maybe they’ll name one of my cousins the Malfoy heir after me.” Draco shrugged. “Maybe they’ll think of something else. In any case, while they might not be happy, we have their blessings.”

David studied his young partner carefully, trying to discern if he was speaking the truth. Draco was clearly at peace with himself and returned David’s gaze with calm determination.

“Was that the only thing bothering you?” Draco enquired after David had brushed his lips over his cheek in acceptance; he sighed when David tensed and craned his head to call over his shoulder, “Harry, we need you here.”

“Shh, Michael’s asleep. Don’t wake him.” Harry slipped back into the main room, softly closing the door behind him and setting the Monitoring Spell. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” David answered, earning himself two radiant smiles. “Draco loves me.”

Harry rolled his eyes and sat down on the loveseat, helping himself to some biscuits. “Now I’m surprised.”

“I...” David hesitated, and Harry regretted his earlier sarcastic input. “I thought about what you told me, that I’ve been making progress?”

Harry nodded in encouragement, reaching over the arm of the loveseat to rest his hand lightly on David’s shoulder.

“I want to feel that progress.” David squeezed his eyes shut as if he feared rejection or being laughed at. “I want to make it real.”

Draco squeezed the older man’s hands, but looked at Harry for help, obviously unsure of what would be the right answer.

“Did you have anything specific in mind?” Harry asked carefully, smoothing his hand down David’s arm and back up again.

“I didn’t just rush into this today,” David pressed out. “I might have been... upset, but I’m past the age of foolishly and headlessly risking everything in a moment of desperation.”

“Okay.” Harry nodded, running his hand through his wild hair. “Do you have a safe word?”

“We’re not into that kind of sex,” Draco said, his brow furrowed as he glanced for confirmation at his lover. “I think we’d both be happy to have normal sex, nothing so extreme.” David nodded hastily.

“I disagree,” Harry replied. “While it might not be extreme for you, anything beyond holding hands is probably testing David’s nerves. You need a safe word.”

“I didn’t have the time to utter a warning or a safe word today,” David still protested. “What makes you think next time will be different?”

“Well, there will be quite a few things different the next time,” Harry answered. “First of all, you won’t have your wand.” He held up a hand when David made to protest. “You almost killed Draco today, David. You were shouting Killing Curses; you can’t ask Draco to take that risk.”

“He doesn’t have to ask,” Draco interrupted. “I want him to feel safe and if having his wand makes him feel more secure, I won’t demand that he gives it up.”

“It’s not your demand, it’s mine,” Harry stated firmly. “You’re not doing David any favours by turning this into a suicide mission, Draco.”

“Patronus,” David muttered. “That’s my safe word.”

“Will you give me your wand?” Harry asked, acknowledging David’s choice with a small smile.

David’s reply this time came with a lot of hesitation, but finally he nodded. “I’ll need more than a safe word, Harry. I need you.”

“I’ll be here the whole time if that is okay with both of you,” he looked in askance at Draco, who nodded quickly, squeezing David’s hand. “And I need you both to trust me.”

“You know I do,” David murmured, not looking at the blond man next to him.

“I do too,” Draco offered, meeting Harry’s gaze with determination in his bright silver eyes. “We’ve both grown up and moved past our childish rivalry. You wouldn’t do anything to deliberately hurt or humiliate me.”

“And you feel comfortable to touch and kiss David in front of me?” Harry clarified.

“I’ve never been self-conscious.” Draco smiled wryly. “I’m willing to go as far as David wants me to... So how do we do this?”

“You want to do this now?” Harry turned to David, who gave a tiny nod. “Then give me your wand.”

David didn’t look as if he particularly wanted to and was seriously reconsidering this whole idea, but then with a look at Draco, who was still kneeling at his feet, he sighed and reached for his wand. His hand shook slightly as he gave it to Harry.

“Here.” Draco drew his own wand, offering it to Harry. “To keep this fair.”

Harry smiled at him, safely placing both wands in his pocket. “You’re right, we should keep it fair. And that means that if you don’t feel comfortable or don’t want to do something, I expect you to tell me, alright?”

“Are we doing this or not?” David pressed out even as Draco nodded. “If we keep talking about this, I’ll...”

“Okay, shh,” Harry murmured, gently grasping his hand. “I know you’re scared, but I need you to calm down a little bit so that I can tell you what is going to happen. Shh, I’m here. I’m going to keep you safe. Shh.”

“I...” David’s chest heaved with the effort to draw air, his eyes widening in panic when he realised that he couldn’t breathe properly.

“Hey, hey,” Harry raised his voice when David didn’t react to his voice, lightly slapping his cheek. “Look at me, focus. Shh, breathe. No, no, not so quickly, deep breaths. In... out... in... out... shh, that’s better... In... out... Good, you’re doing good.”

Gradually, David had calmed down, his breathing evened out and his hands stopped their shaking. Draco, on the hand, was still pale, kneeling on the floor but looking much like he was cowering from the harsh reality of David’s fear; he didn’t know what to do, how to help. Harry couldn’t blame him.

“Well, I guess I should have expected that.” Harry cracked an apologetic smile, squeezing David’s knee in encouragement. “I should have told you about my plan before taking your wand, I’m sorry. I’d understand - ”

“No,” David interrupted, twisting his fingers in his lap. “I want to do this. I’m done being afraid. They’ve ruled my life for too long already; it has to stop. It has to.”

“Okay.” Harry nodded. “So you want to hear my plan? First of all, ‘stop’ means stop, ‘Patronus’ means stop and if David opens his eyes that means stop.”

“What?” David jerked his head up, staring incredulously at the younger wizard.

“I want you to close your eyes and relax,” Harry explained, carefully choosing his words to eliminate both doubt and force. “I’ll tell Draco what to do. There will be very clear announcements and we’ll start slow, Draco taking your hand, running his fingers through your hair, kissing your cheek, and we’ll work our way up from there. If you feel like it’s going too far, too fast, you open your eyes or use one of your words, and we’ll stop.”

“But...”

“I think it’s a good idea,” Draco offered, hesitantly resting his hand on David’s arm. “I know you’re putting more trust in me than in the beginning, but you’ll probably always trust Harry more. I’m fine with that. I’m just thinking that you might be more comfortable and willing to stretch your limits if it’s him calling the shots.”

“What is the point if I can’t look at you?” David asked angrily. “I don’t want to imagine it were someone else. In fact, that might be the problem.”

An infectious smile spread over Draco’s handsome face, and David’s lips quirked a little as he reached out to caress the younger man’s cheek. Harry decided to give them some privacy, taking the opportunity to slip into Michael’s room and make sure that the little boy was still slumbering peacefully.

“Thank you,” Draco whispered, pressing a kiss into the palm of David’s hand.

“I mean it,” David replied, sliding his fingers through Draco’s silver blond hair.

“So did I,” Draco murmured earnestly. “I want you to be able to move past what they did to you, to get rid of their memory, of their shadow always haunting you. I know that I’m not the problem, David. They are. So maybe we should concentrate on them first. It’s your decision, though, and I’ll go along with whatever you think is best.”

“How can you stand to love me so much?” David asked incredulously, staring down at the younger man, who was looking at him so tenderly.

“Loving you is the easy part.” Draco grinned and daringly leaned in to brush a kiss over David’s lips. “It’s the helping you that is still giving me trouble.”

“Thank you, Draco,” David whispered. “Really, thank you.”

Draco just smiled, brushing another kiss over David’s lips, and then rested his head in the older man’s lap.

“You want to do this?” David asked, gently massaging Draco’s scalp and trailing his fingers over Draco’s cheek, down his neck and throat.

“Yes, love,” Draco murmured. “I want to do this together with you so that one day I can wake up with you in my arms... And I have to admit that I like the idea of all your thoughts being focused on me.”

David grimaced, drawing Draco’s head up for a kiss. “Okay.”

“So you’re in?” Harry asked, leaning against the door frame and then slowly walking towards them at David’s nod. “Would you like to lie down?”

David hastily shook his head, and Harry smiled at him in hopes of calming his nerves. “Alright,” Harry replied. “But maybe you could move to the sofa. You look kind of cramped and I’d imagine that the floor isn’t too comfortable for Draco.”

David hesitated but finally pushed himself up and sat down heavily on the love seat, fisting his hands in his lap. His eyes jumped nervously from Harry to Draco, flitted over the closed door and window. Fine tremors started in his hands, spread up his arms until he was shaking like a leaf.

“Close your eyes whenever you’re ready,” Harry murmured, grasping the older man’s hand and squeezing tightly. “Take your time. Look around you. We’re not in Azkaban anymore; we’re safe. Look at Draco. He wouldn’t hurt you. Try to commit his sight to memory. I’ll be here, but I want you think of him and him alone. It will be Draco who’s touching you and I promise you no one else will come even near you. You want to try to close your eyes? Just for a moment, just to get used to it.”

Harry kept up his soothing murmur, repeating key phrases like “You’re safe,” “No one’s going to hurt you,” “I’m here,” over and over again, while he fastened his second hand around David’s wrist to monitor his pulse. Racing; Harry threw in another “Take your time. We’re not in danger,” and carefully stretched out his legs to get more comfortable.

He’d talked about this with Healer Lestrange, without mentioning David’s name of course, but he doubted the healer was oblivious enough not to have known who Harry’s hypothetical friend was. And he’d read several books about helping trauma victims and psychological rehabilitation. He wished he felt less insecure about his proposal, about this plan of his, that his strategy included more than portraying calm and confidence, establishing a safety net for David and putting all his determination in being patient and getting all of them through this. He swallowed down his sigh, concentrating on David’s pulse again. Still elevated, but slowing down.

David pressed his eyes shut, the self conquest necessary for this simple act written in every line of his face. Seconds later, he snapped them open again, looking around wildly, his shaking intensifying again, his pulse erratic. Harry hadn’t interrupted his nonsensical encouragements before and he didn’t do so now, just kept talking quietly to his friend, until David braced himself for another attempt.

It took four more attempts and countless minutes before David’s eyes stayed closed and before the Death Eater was reasonably calm.

“Okay,” David muttered. “I’m ready. I think we all are.”

Harry laughed softly and even Draco grinned a little though otherwise he remained immobile, not wanting to startle his partner with the rustling of his clothes.

“Draco will take your hand now,” Harry said, not hesitating; confident, strong. It wasn’t a suggestion.

“No!” David exclaimed, clenching his fingers around Harry’s though his eyes remained closed. “No. I know this is about Draco and me, I know that, but I need... I need to know that you’re there, Harry. At least for now. Don’t let go.”

“Alright, I won’t,” Harry agreed. “But would it be okay if Draco took your other hand?”

David thought for a moment, but then gave a tiny nod and Draco shifted forward, extended his arm and carefully, oh-so-carefully cradled David’s hand in his as if it was made of fragile glass. The older man noisily expelled his breath, but his fingers tightened slightly in response to Draco’s touch.

“Good,” Harry praised, smoothing his own thumb over David’s wrist. “David, I want you to tell us what Draco looks like right now.”

“What-?”

“You’re imagining him, are you not?” Harry asked softly. “What does he look like?”

“He looks...” David hesitated. “Nervous, like he doesn’t know what to do, but determined, strong, reliable. I can feel him looking at me. In here, his eyes seem even brighter than normal, sheer silver. His hair is soft as silk, falling slightly into his face as if he hasn’t spent countless minutes this morning fixing it just the way he likes it. There’s little scar close to his right ear that he got from a Quidditch accident when he was eight. But it’s hardly noticeable; you can only see it when you know it’s there and otherwise his skin is unblemished and smooth... Draco, he’s the handsomest man I’ve ever known. And I bet that made him smile,” David added, his lips quirking into a grimace to mirror Draco’s own smile.

“Yes,” Draco said softly, caressing David’s hand. “And you’re quite breathtaking yourself... But I probably shouldn’t have said anything, should I?”

“I don’t see David complaining,” Harry told him, giving the blond man an encouraging nod. “Are you, David?”

“No, I’m fine,” David answered. “Draco, kiss me.”

The younger man didn’t hesitate, obeying immediately. He tugged David’s hand to rest over his heart, then leant in, letting his breath ghost over David’s face for a moment before he sealed their lips in a gentle, non-invasive kiss. The grey-haired man tensed for a second, his hand clenching in Harry’s while the other crumpled the fabric of Draco’s shirt. But his eyes remained closed and after the first moment of shock, his tense muscles relaxed slightly and Harry could feel the blood flowing back into his fingertips.

“Draco,” David whispered against the younger man’s lips. “My Draco.”

Draco smiled and leaned back in, pressed a little closer and David jerked his hand up from where it was resting against the younger man’s chest, closed it into a fist and drew it back for a punch. But Harry had moved into action as soon as David’s eyes had snapped open. He had pushed Draco back, taking him out of the way of David’s swing, and put an arm across David’s chest, gently pressing him back. It seemed that it wouldn’t be so easy after all.


	53. The Magic Touch

“That took you awfully long,” Fenrir growled, pressing Harry back against the door of the hut Harry had just step out of to say goodbye to Draco and David.

He nudged Harry’s head to the side to snuffle his neck, making sure that Harry didn’t smell too much like the two Death Eaters. He wasn’t happy with what he found, but he had never expected to be. Harry smelled very much like Travers, a little less like Malfoy, had soaked in their scent like a fucking sponge. Fenrir didn’t like that. He pushed aside the collar of Harry’s sweater and breathed a sigh of relief because underneath his clothes Harry still smelled like Harry and most of all like Fenrir.

“Michael’s still sleeping,” Harry commented, arching his neck to give Fenrir better access to his throat and moaning happily when the werewolf started to suck on his yaw. “That’s good right? It doesn’t mean that something is wrong or...”

“It just means that this day was as exhausting and exciting for him as it was for you.” Fenrir titled Harry’s chin up with one finger, to study his mark with satisfaction. “And that I have you all to myself, finally.”

Harry laughed even as Fenrir unceremoniously manoeuvred him back into the hut and pressed him against the wall, his hands already going for Harry’s zipper. “Eager much?”

“Shut up,” Fenrir growled, jerking down Harry’s jeans before focusing his attention on Harry’s sweater. “You would have got sweet and gentle and romantic earlier, but now you reek too much of them.”

Harry gave up arguing and since Fenrir’s almost frenzied movements left little room for him to become more active, he rested himself more comfortably against the wall and observed his lover through hooded eyes.

“What now?” Fenrir asked in exasperation, noting Harry’s lack of participation but still chucked Harry’s sweater to the side.

“Didn’t seem like you needed my input,” Harry said with a lazy smirk. “You look like you have everything under control.”

“Very funny,” Fenrir grumbled, but then furrowed his brow a look of uncertainty crossing his face. “This... I’m mean I’m not forcing you, you know?”

Harry smiled gently up at the older man, tenderly framing Fenrir’s rough face between his hands. “Wolfie, you’ll always have my consent and if I should ever decide to withdraw it, I’ll be sure to let you know. And I don’t much care whether you want to make love or fuck me senseless because I just want to feel you again.” Fenrir grinned, leaning back in. “But... I would like to have sip of water first, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Fenrir was quick to respond, smiling down at the slender man. “I’ll go check in on Michael.”

“You said he was fine!” Harry exclaimed, a bit of his old insecurity peaking back out.

“I’m sure he is,” Fenrir appeased him, throwing a grin over his shoulder. “But sooner or later he’ll need a change of nappies, and I’d rather do that now than when we’re... **busy**.”

Harry still seemed sceptical, but nodded a little and turned away to grab the bottle of water that had miraculously appeared on the window sill. Fenrir watched him for a moment longer, pale throat exposed as Harry tilted the bottle up to quench his thirst. Goddess, if Harry knew what he was doing to him! He quickly slipped into their son’s room, which was lit by the last rays of sunlight, tinting everything with a red-golden hue.

Michael was sleeping peacefully; Fenrir could hear his soft, regular heartbeat, the small snuffles of air; he could smell that unique sweet baby smell, all happiness and contentment and an unbroken sense of basic trust; and as he stepped closer he saw his cub’s rosy cheeks, the fine black hair, the pouty lips.

He kneeled down next to the crib, very, very carefully caressed his son’s cheek and then leaned in to breathe a kiss onto his forehead, Michael’s small breaths ghosting like an answering caress over his face. He rearranged the blanket a little, but there was nothing else for him to do. Harry had taken excellent care of their cub. And Fenrir felt a swell of pride in his chest, thinking of his little human and how much he had accomplished today. It was time that Harry received his reward.

Only that Harry was fast asleep when he stepped back into the main room. The young man had obviously got undressed, spreading out on their sleeping furs in what must have been intended as a seductive pose. But since Harry had a habit of curling up in his sleep, it now tended more towards adorable.

Fenrir sighed, long and heavy. This was not how he had envisioned his evening, and he was tempted to just wake Harry up and get their evening back on course. But he wasn’t like that; he had never been like that. Harry was his pack, his responsibility, and Harry needed his sleep. Good Alphas didn’t do selfish, they always put their pack’s need before their own. He would let Harry sleep.

ö_ö_ö

“I have a surprise for you,” Harry whispered in Fenrir’s ear, wrapping his arms around the werewolf’s waist from behind.

“Is that so, my little elusive one?” Fenrir asked, taking a hold of Harry’s wrists and turning around in the circle of his arms.

“Mhm.” Harry had a promising smirk on his face. “Two hours, all to ourselves.”

Fenrir sighed, his features darkening slightly. “As much as I’d like that, we still have to look after Michael, Harry. Yesterday wasn’t a one-time thing – you will have to take care of our son more.”

“I know that,” Harry protested and drew back in hurt. “I’m not trying to shirk my responsibilities, Fen. I never wanted that in the first place, I just didn’t know how to deal. I know... I know I haven’t taken care of Michael as much as I should have, but it wasn’t for a lack of trying. I was **always** there.”

“I didn’t mean it like that, little wolf,” Fenrir murmured, tugging Harry back into his arms and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“I looked after Michael until now, while you were out hunting,” Harry mumbled. “I fed him, I gave him a bath, I changed his nappies, I rocked him to sleep and soothed him when he cried. I didn’t ask Remus or Maya for help once. He’s asleep now, you know? I don’t think he’ll wake up any time soon, but just in case I asked the others to keep an ear open and check in on him from time to time... So...?”

“So I think we should take advantage of that.” Fenrir grinned, drawing Harry closer against his chest and nuzzling his cheek. “And maybe I should take advantage of you.”

Harry laughed, lifting up to press a kiss to Fenrir’s lips and then pulling back slightly. “You can take advantage of me all you want, my Alpha, but my surprise is a bit more elaborate than that.” Harry reached behind him, producing a single red rose and a black cloth.

Fenrir blinked in surprise. “You got me flowers? Did I miss something?”

“I hope you missed me.” Harry smiled. “I know it’s not our usual style, but I... I wanted to do something for you. To thank you. To apologise. You up for it?”

Fenrir had missed seeing Harry like this. Full of life, of mirth, of carefully hidden vulnerability. The Harry he had met in Azkaban, hurt and betrayed but always more concerned with Fenrir’s and Travers’ wellbeing than with his own, risking his life in the process and saving Fenrir’s.

“I’m up for anything, my little love,” he murmured softly, taking the rose and putting it close to his nose since that seemed to be the thing to do if one got regaled with flowers. “What’s with the cloth?”

“It’s a blindfold,” Harry answered. “I don’t want you to know where we’re going.”

“I’ll be able to smell that,” Fenrir pointed out gently. “I know every tree and every leaf in my territory. I know how the ground feels under my feet and how the air moves.”

Harry bit his lip, pouting a little and Fenrir just had to lean down and kiss him. “I’ll act surprised, if that helps.”

“No, I have a plan B,” Harry answered with a smirk, grasping Fenrir’s forearms. “Hold on tightly.”

Before Fenrir had the chance to protest, and he had had every intention of protesting because no way did he want to start his one-on-one time with Harry with the nasty feeling of being compressed into a Michael-sized package and being forced through a winding tube, Harry whisked them away.

“Dammit, silly wizard,” Fenrir groused as he briefly lost his balance, almost toppling Harry to the ground. “Did you have to do that?”

“No, but think of all the time we just saved,” Harry answered, leaning up to nibble on Fenrir’s earlobe. “Time you can use to make me yours again.”

“You’ve always been mine,” Fenrir pointed out, but tilted his head slightly to give Harry room to kiss down his throat.

Harry hummed in agreement, feathering a few more kisses down the werewolf’s neck and then drew back. “Do you like my surprise?”

Fenrir looked around himself, noting that they were at the little lake, a bit away from their clearing, but still within his territory. He had half expected to find himself in their usual spot, with the large bolder and the many steamy memories, but he wasn’t too disappointed to find himself here instead. A new place to make new memories. There was a large pick-nick blanket that Fenrir had never seen before spread out on the soft grass, near the shingly shore, and next to it a huge basket which smelt rather appetising. Though not as appetising as Harry.

“You did all this, little wolf?” Fenrir demanded. “Even though I would have appreciated you and nothing else? Key word here being ‘nothing’.” He grinned lewdly, licking over Harry’s cheek.

Harry rolled his eyes, laughed and melted into Fenrir’s hold. “I know, but we always do that, right? You’ve been so good at humouring me these last few months – don’t stop now.”

“I wouldn’t dream on it,” Fenrir murmured. “But you’ll humour me too, won’t you, sweet little thing, and slip out of those unnecessary clothes so that I can taste your skin again.”

“Of course, my Alpha,” Harry whispered, reaching for his t-shirt and slowly, tantalisingly pulling it up, revealing centimetre for centimetre creamy white skin and slight muscles.

A low growl rumbled up in Fenrir’s chest and when finally, finally Harry threw his t-shirt to the side he really didn’t have any patience left for Harry to tease himself out of his jeans and underwear as well. He slung one arm around Harry’s waist, unbuttoned the younger man’s jeans with his free hand and jerked both them and Harry’s underwear down the long legs before lifting Harry out of the pooling clothes. Harry huffed out a surprised laugh, but wrapped his legs around Fenrir’s waist.

“And what about your clothes, wolfie?” he asked happily, swirling a finger teasingly around Fenrir’s right nipple. “Won’t be able to get out of them like this.”

Fenrir grumbled unwillingly, struggling to keep a hold of Harry for a moment longer even as the younger man pressed away from him, but then set him down gently. He stared hungrily at Harry’s pale body, how the milky skin shimmered in the sun like dewdrops in the morning, contrasting sharply with Harry’s pitch black hair and distracting Fenrir from the many scars that littered the slender body. Harry smiled at him and it had been a while since he had seen that smile, full of love and promise, and then turned to look over the glittering surface of the lake.

The werewolf quickly slipped out of his worn jeans and stepped behind Harry, laying a careful arm around Harry’s waist as if the younger man was still pregnant. “Later, sweet wolf. We’ll take a swim later, yes? But for now it should be just us, no distractions.”

“Just us,” Harry repeated, leaning back against the werewolf and tilting his head to the side. “Sounds like it could be fun.”

“Come on.” Fenrir didn’t know why he felt the need to be extra gentle with Harry today, why he felt that this time, more than any other, should be perfect and meaningful and special, but he carefully grasped the young wizard’s hand and led him over to the chequered pick-nick blanket where he lay him down and began to explore the slim body with his lips and fingers.

Harry made a soft mewling noise, his legs falling apart to accommodate Fenrir’s larger body, and his eyelids fluttered erratically over luminescent green eyes. He reached up pale, long-fingered hands, gently framing Fenrir’s face and pulling him down for a sensual kiss. Harry tasted sweeter than he remembered, chocolate from the hot beverage he liked to drink in a moment of quietude and peppermint from the toothpaste he used. Their tongues met eagerly, fighting for dominance before Harry yielded just enough for Fenrir to take the lead and take the brutality out of their kiss. He leisurely explored Harry’s mouth for a while, tangling their tongues and licking over the row of Harry’s teeth before he drew back a little and delivered gentle nips and licks to Harry’s plump lips, eliciting excited moans. He then moved down Harry’s throat, pulled his lips over his teeth when he came to his neck so as not to frighten his young lover.

“Fen,” Harry whispered. “Please... please.”

“Shh, little moonlight. Of course,” Fenrir replied, gliding his hands down Harry’s sides until they settled on his hips as Harry slung his right leg over his back.

Harry blindly reached behind him, fumbling for the basket and pulling out a bottle of massage oil that he handed over to the werewolf. Fenrir uncapped it quickly, suddenly impatient to be finally inside of Harry again, and squirted some of the oil into his hand. He slicked up his erection, coating it liberally in the oil, but then hesitated and looked in askance at Harry. He wanted, he needed, but Goddess, hurting Harry was the last thing he wanted to do.

“It’s okay, just go slow.” Harry smiled at him, cupping Fenrir’s jaw in a sign of trust and protectiveness. “I won’t break.”

“I know, but tell me if...”

“I will,” Harry interrupted, taking a hold of Fenrir’s hips and urging him closer, blindly grasping the werewolf’s erection and leading it to his entrance. “I want this too.”

Fenrir grumbled, pressing a gruff kiss to Harry’s lips, and lined up his erection properly, pushing just the tip of it past the tight, unstretched ring of muscles. A sharp intake of breath. And Harry’s eyes fluttered for a second before opening wide, as he threw his head back.

“Goddess, so tight,” Fenrir pressed out, wanting to just push all the way in, ravage that tight heat, fill Harry to the brim and force him to submit. But he would never do that, hurt Harry so carelessly or be more concerned with his own needs than with his lover’s. So he kept perfectly still, only caressed lightly over Harry’s thighs and waited until Harry’s mimic relaxed again.

He thrust in a little more, earning himself another gasp, another half-pained moan, and stilled again. He could feel his muscles strain with the effort to keep immobile, his heart thumping quickly in his chest, his senses heightened to the maximum.

“Go on,” Harry said softly; it sounded a little strained, more than a little breathless, but Harry’s eyes told Fenrir that he meant it and that he was as excited about this as he was.

“Perfect,” he growled, withdrawing and then pushing in a little further. “You’re perfect.”

“Likewise.” Harry smiled, fisting his hands in the blanket and carefully moving his leg to adjust the angle of their joining. “Feels good... right.”

“It’ll feel even better in a little while,” Fenrir grunted, pressing in deeper, daring to lean down for a distracting kiss. “My moonlight.”

“Never knew why you call me that,” Harry whispered and closed his eyes for a second. “Deeper, my Alpha, please.”

“Because you bring out the best in me,” Fenrir murmured and pushed in all the way; Harry screamed, roared really, his head trashing from side to side and his fingernails digging into the blanket and his own palms.

“Seems I bring out the beast in you, too.” Harry laughed breathlessly. “No patience, big bad wolf.”

“You said deeper,” Fenrir defended himself, withdrawing just a little, and Harry groaned. “This would be easier if you were more relaxed.”

Harry snorted and loosened his right hand from the blanket to instead grasp Fenrir’s forearm, digging his fingernails into the tanned skin. “Thank you, I hadn’t thought of that yet.”

“Must you resort to sarcasm now, silly little thing?” Fenrir asked in exasperation. “I was only trying to help.”

“Then move, but carefully,” Harry demanded, his whole body arching off the ground when Fenrir gently rotated his hips, pulling slightly out of Harry before pushing all the way back in. “Gah!”

“This is too much for you,” Fenrir observed, placing an apologetic kiss on Harry’s lips. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“No,” Harry protested and slung his second leg over Fenrir’s waist. “I want this. Please, Fen, won’t break.”

Fenrir didn’t need much more convincing, just one look into Harry’s warm, determined, trusting eyes, and he started to roll his hips a little. And Harry gasped and moaned, arched his neck, tilted his hips to allow him to penetrate even deeper. Winced from time to time. But it was okay, Harry was okay because he would always meet Fenrir’s eyes afterwards and give him an encouraging nod and after a few more careful rotations, the werewolf’s movement grew more bold, faster, harder, deeper until he was thrusting in and out of Harry with fast-paced regularity, his erection rubbing over Harry’s pleasure spot and making both of them see stars.

“Fen,” Harry pleaded, and Fenrir leaned down to press feverish kisses onto Harry’s collarbone, over his chest, feeling the erratic heartbeat against his lips. “More. Almost there. Please.”

Fenrir growled deeply, reaching out for Harry’s neglected erection and began to stroke it leisurely, in contrast to his hard thrusts. Harry keened, running his fingers through Fenrir’s hair and leaving bloody scratches on the werewolf’s back. Fenrir howled as his orgasm crashed down over him and he pushed his face against Harry’s neck, pressing the younger man hard against the ground and tightening his fist around Harry’s erection. The black-haired wizard groaned, his body wanting to arch up as he was pushed over the edge, but Fenrir’s massive form kept him well and truly pinned. After the tidal wave of pleasure had washed over him, he felt all strength desert him. He felt tired and sated and completely boneless and was quite content to just lay underneath Fenrir, feeling his come dry slowly between their bodies and glue them together like they were never again meant to be apart.

“You okay, little white one?” Fenrir’s voice was slightly husky, gravely, but he rolled off of Harry with ease, gently gathering the smaller man to his chest and studying him attentively.

“’t was perfect,” Harry mumbled, burrowing deeper in the shelter of Fenrir’s embrace. “Can still feel you inside of me. All tingly and warm.”

Fenrir grumbled to himself, slipping one of his hands between Harry’s legs and tracing his thumb over Harry’s sensitive entrance. The green-eyed man yelped in surprise, shuddered and then moaned happily, pressing back against the older man.

“Just checking if you’re bleeding,” Fenrir offered, bringing his hand back up to inspect his fingers for non-existent traces of blood.

“I’m not in pain,” Harry muttered defiantly. “And I could think of a few better things you could do with your hands.”

“I just bet,” Fenrir replied in amusement, brushing his lips over the younger man’s shoulder. “But let’s rest for a minute longer, alright, sweet wolf? This is perfect, too.”

“Hm, I suppose it is.” Harry sighed blissfully, rolling around to peer up at the werewolf. “Thank you, Fen.”

“You never have to thank me, sweet little human,” Fenrir replied lovingly, kissing the corner of Harry’s mouth. “Everything I do, I do because I want to, because you’re worth it. It’s no sacrifice on my part.”

Harry smiled at that, but shook his head slowly. “Doesn’t mean I shouldn’t thank you.”

“I have some ideas how you could do that.” Fenrir smirked, rolling over Harry and rubbing their bodies together. “And guess what, you’re in exactly the right position for most of them.”

“Well then, wolfie.” Harry laughed. “Let me thank you properly.”

Fenrir growled happily when Harry arched up, his lithe body in sharp contrast to Fenrir’s massive form, pale skin against Fenrir’s tan, slight muscles and too little body fat against Fenrir’s well-defined abs. He easily pushed Harry back down, ran one hand across Harry’s once again flat stomach. Only a few weeks ago Harry’s stomach had been rounded with a new life, perfect in its own right because of what it represented, but –

“Shit!” he suddenly cursed, jumping up and away from Harry. “Shit! Shit! Shit! No!”

“Fen?” Harry asked cautiously, sitting up and putting his arms around his legs. “Everything okay?”

“No, everything is not bloody well okay!” Fenrir all but roared, pacing up and down before he spotted his jeans and hastily picked them up, extracting something from the back pocket and showing it to Harry.

Harry needed a moment to make out what Fenrir was so furiously waving around. “Condoms?”

“We should have used them!” Fenrir shouted. “How could I be so careless?!”

“You wanted to use condoms?” Harry asked carefully. “Why?”

“What do you mean why?” Fenrir demanded angrily, staring hard at the younger man. “You won’t risk another pregnancy, you silly thing. It’s too dangerous. Do you know how many times I thought I was going to lose you?! I’m not going through that again!”

“Yes, I get that,” Harry answered impatiently. “But I’m using contraception charms, so what’s the big deal with the condoms?”

“You what?” Fenrir shouted, not sounding any les furious than before and Harry shrunk slightly away from him.

“I don’t want to get pregnant again,” Harry said softly, picking at his nails and not looking at Fenrir. “I know how risky it would be and honestly, being pregnant kind of freaked me out. I’m not too keen to repeat that experience any time soon. So I did a contraception charm. I thought you knew.”

“How could I?” Fenrir asked, but breathed a sigh of relief and sat down opposite of Harry, grasping the younger man’s ankles and drawing him between his own legs. “You didn’t tell me.”

“Remus showed me how to do it. He said he talked with you about using contraception and that you had agreed that it was a good idea,” Harry explained, leaning his head against Fenrir’s shoulder and peering up at the werewolf.

Fenrir barked out a laugh. “He did. He made me promise to use condoms from now on. Didn’t say a peep about you using a magic trick, though.”

Harry blinked in surprise and then laughed as well. “That little sneak! I guess he wanted to make double sure that we wouldn’t give Michael a sibling. Good thinking – as it turns out you’re not that reliable, wolfie.” He grinned impishly and brushed a teasing kiss on the corner of Fenrir’s mouth.

“You distracted me,” Fenrir defended himself. “And your magic isn’t the most reliable thing, either. I’ll feel better if we use condoms.”

“Remus had me practise that one charm for over an hour and he checked if I did it correctly,” Harry murmured, hurt by Fenrir’s comment even though he tried not to be. “There’s no way I’ll get pregnant again.”

“This shouldn’t be your responsibility alone,” Fenrir grumbled, smoothing his hand down Harry’s back. “And condoms are a form of contraception I can understand, something concrete, little moonlight. Your magic is just - ”

“Volatile, I know that, believe me I know,” Harry finished with a tired sigh.

“It’s something that I can’t quite grasp. Explain it to me,” Fenrir demanded, feeling Harry’s pulse against his lips when he pressed them against the black-haired man’s temple.

Harry closed his eyes for a second, pressing his head back against Fenrir’s shoulder. “They pushed me, during the war, they wanted me to realise my full potential and that as quickly as possible, so they pushed and challenged and **trained** me. It worked, I guess, my magic grew stronger until it almost seemed like there was no more a limit to what I could do. Then they threw me in Azkaban and I distracted myself by doing wandless magic and warded my cell against the Dementors... But then we got out and I went with you and I didn’t use as much magic, and when I learned of Michael I confined my magic to protecting him. So it grew bored, restless, angry.”

“But you did do magic from time to time,” Fenrir pointed out. “You duelled with Travers and did those little tricks...”

“Exactly, Fen, they were only little tricks, child’s play,” Harry answered softly. “It could never have been enough and I thought if I just ignored it long enough it would settle down sooner or later. You know how that turned out.” He snorted. “I don’t know what Tom did with my magic, I don’t really want to know, but he used it, let it out to play and now that it’s back with me, it’s not happy to be neglected again.” He looked up at the werewolf pleadingly. “Fen, I know you don’t like magic, but I can’t continue like this. I can feel my magic churning inside of me, just waiting for me to loosen the reigns a little so that it can break free. And it scares me.”

Fenrir tightened his hold on the young man, pressing a kiss into Harry’s hair. “What do you want to do, little wizard? What does Voldemort do? He doesn’t seem to be struggling so much to keep his magic in check.”

“He claims that he simply has more self-control.” Harry rolled his eyes to show how much he thought of that idea. “I think it’s because he almost constantly uses his magic. Have you noticed how he sometimes twirls his wand between his fingers, sparks shooting from the tip? It may not seem like much, but I can feel his magic rushing out whenever he does that. Then there are the wards around his castle, the supervision charms on his Death Eaters, the protective bubbles around himself and me. Plus, I’m fairly sure he regularly blasts his office and rebuilds it afterwards. And I don’t want to turn into him, Fen, but he was right when he said that I needed to do something with my life, with my magic.”

“If you need to do more magic, around the pack and around me, I’m okay with that,” Fenrir grumbled, surprised when Harry lightly shook his head.

“It’s not only that I need to, wolfie. Tom would be delighted to relieve me of part of my magic so that I wouldn’t have to worry about using enough. But my magic is a part of me, it’s who I am and even though it scares me, it’s also what makes me feel alive,” Harry insisted, staring up at the werewolf. “I can figure this out. I’ll duel more often with David or Tom, I’ll put up stronger wards around the people I love and maybe blow up something when it gets too much. And once Michael is older I can get a job where I have to use my magic. But I was born with magic and so was Michael and I want you to accept that. Most wizarding children start to exhibit signs of accidental magic between the age of five and eight, and when that happens to Michael I don’t want him to feel like there’s something wrong with him because that’s how the Dursleys made me feel. So I get that you’re not all that comfortable with magic now, but you’ll have to get over that. Please.”

“I’ll work on it, little human,” Fenrir promised, gently grasping Harry’s head between his hands. “And I’ll start right now. We’re far away from the others and you won’t hurt me, so let go. Let me feel what’s inside of you.”

“I’m pretty sure you already felt that all.” Harry grinned, but when he kissed the werewolf his eyes were gleaming with hope and gratitude.

Fenrir laughed. “I’ve no objections whatsoever to feeling you again, my sweet thing. I always discover something new about you.”

“You sure?”

“Absolutely.” Fenrir nodded. “But we’ll still use condoms. I have to keep my promise to Remus.”

“Alright, my Alpha,” Harry teased, licking over Fenrir’s lips, and gradually relaxing his hold on his magic, feeling the energy stream out of him, wafting off of him in playful waves; and Harry could see it dance around them in colourful swirls, cradling Harry as if he was a long-absent lover who had finally returned. It was warm and welcoming and forgiving, not as angry as he had half expected, and it rushed through him with lightning speed, leaving his muscles tingling and kicking all his senses into overdrive.

He gasped when Fenrir touched his wrist just lightly, sending a charge of electricity through his veins and making a kaleidoscope of colours explode in front of his closed eyes. “Harry,” he heard, but his name was distorted, muted perhaps or maybe too loud, and he didn’t know what to reply, how to reply, because there were so many sensations clamouring for his attention and he didn’t know which sense to address first.

But suddenly there was a warm chest against his front, strong arms around his torso, and his magic calmed down until it didn’t feel anymore like he was floating in an endless ocean without any dry land in sight. “You coming back to earth now, silly little human?” Fenrir’s deep voice rumbled in his ear and Harry managed a dazed nod. “Good. I had expected that I would be a bit more involved in bringing about your orgasm, but this was kind of hot as well.”

“What...?” Harry mumbled in confusion and Fenrir laughed, trailing his hand over Harry’s stomach and thighs that had somehow become coated in sticky wetness. “Oh, sorry.”

“It’s okay. I enjoyed watching you.” Fenrir smirked. pushing away a few strands of dark hair to kiss the nape of Harry’s neck. “Look around you.”

Harry lifted his head slowly, only then noticing that he was clinging to Fenrir’s shoulders, and stared in awe at his surroundings. The blanket had changed colour and pattern, now sporting a multitude of different-sized, colourful circles on pristine white. The grass around them had grown almost to waist-height, flowers blossoming, leaves sprouting and a soft breeze rustling the blades of grass. Above that, residues of his magic were still lingering, painting rainbows into the sky and shooting up in playful sparks.

“Wow,” he whispered, reaching inside him for his magic, wondering if there was still anything left and finding to his surprise that though calmed considerably his magical core was still filled to the brim, now resting contently in his chest, waiting for its next chance. “I didn’t know this would happen.”

Fenrir laughed, feeling almost a little giddy because no, he hadn’t expected this either. Hadn’t expected Harry’s magic to reach out to him, enveloping him so very carefully as if conscious of his wariness but with every intention to make him a part of this; hadn’t expected to see that expression of sheer bliss and freedom on Harry’s face; hadn’t expected that it would feel so good to have Harry trust him with that part of himself, even if he couldn’t quite trust it yet. But he was going to get there, for Harry and for Michael. His little wizards.


	54. Here and Now

“Fen?” Fenrir stared down at his lover in surprise, having expected him to still be fast asleep after their latest round of love-making. “I love you, you know that, right?”

“Of course I do,” Fenrir grumbled, brushing a few strands of damp hair out of Harry’s face. “Try to get some sleep, little one. You’ll need your energy tonight.”

“No,” Harry protested, pushing himself up into a sitting position. “I... I’ve got an offer to make.”

Fenrir sat up as well, looking at Harry with curiosity and a bit of wariness. “An offer?”

Harry took a deep breath, then spoke very quickly. “I’ll submit to you tonight, during the full moon, if you want me to.”

“What?” Fenrir barked, scolding himself when Harry winced at the harsh tone. “I meant... what?”

“You’ve always wanted me to submit, right? It’s not like you hide it very well, even though you haven’t made an issue out of it recently, which I appreciate, by the way.” Harry was still speaking hastily, obviously nervous and unwilling to meet Fenrir’s questioning gaze. “So I’ll submit to you. Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”

“Have you spoken with Remus?” Fenrir asked suspiciously.

“Remus has nothing to do with it,” Harry replied earnestly, finally looking up. “I know I messed up your ordered pack life by refusing to accept you as my Alpha. I’m sorry for that and I don’t want that anymore. I love you, I trust you, I respect you.”

“So you have spoken to Remus,” Fenrir stated, sighing heavily.

“No, actually I didn’t.” Harry furrowed his brow and cocked his head. “What is it? Did I make another mistake? Have I offended you? I’m sorry, I just thought you’d be happy...”

“Harry, no, I’m not offended, come here for a moment,” Fenrir demanded, opening his arms for the younger man. “Thought this up yourself, did you?”

“I don’t understand why that’s a problem,” Harry argued. “Should I have waited until you made another move?”

“Well, yes, generally, you allow your Alpha to take the lead.” The werewolf grinned, licking over Harry’s lips. “But I just want to know, is this your decision? Is this really what **you** want?”

“Yes.” Harry nodded, narrowing his eyes. “What is going on? What could Remus have told me? Fen?”

“Maybe that it would be safer for you to submit to me,” Fenrir replied after a moment’s hesitation. “You’re not pregnant anymore, Harry, and if one of the others wanted to challenge your position, they now could.”

“They’ll attack me?” Harry asked incredulously, pushing away from the werewolf.

“I doubt they will,” Fenrir tried to appease him. “But you have to realise that you submitting to Remus and Lin, but not to the rest of us, might be cause for some raised hackles.”

“What? But...” Harry shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut.

“They won’t hurt you, sweet one,” Fenrir insisted, framing Harry’s face between his large hands. “The first one who tries will have to deal with me and they won’t try again. You’re safe, I promise.”

“That’s not the point, Fen,” Harry whispered. “If they only bided their time to show me my place...”

“I know, little human,” Fenrir murmured, pressing a kiss to Harry’s forehead. “And that’s why it’s unlikely that they’ll even try. It’s not like half a year ago, you’re part of the pack now. They’ve accepted you.”

“But?” Harry prompted, seeing the hesitation in Fenrir’s eyes.

“I’m telling you this because you freely offered to submit to me, little moonlight, and you can still change your mind.” Fenrir pecked Harry’s lips in a short kiss. “I only want your submission if you’re willing to give it, for no other reason, do you understand?”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I thought you’d take it by force otherwise,” Harry whispered, grasping Fenrir’s hand tightly. “But now I’d really like to know what’s going on, wolfie, because frankly all this mystery mongering is making me nervous.”

Fenrir grinned a little and then nodded as if he’d come to a decision. “If you accept me as your Alpha, I can formally accept you into my pack. You have a place here, and you always will, my little one, but I cannot recognise you as... as long as you haven’t recognised me as your Alpha.”

Harry bit his lip in thought, sighing heavily. “I’ve been really making a mess of things, haven’t I? I should have thought about all of this earlier instead of making life difficult for you with my ignorance. I’m sorry, Fen, I’ll submit to you and the others.”

A warning growl rumbled up in Fenrir’s chest and his incisors lengthened threateningly. “No. Not to the others, just to me. You’re **mine**!”

“That’s very touching, wolfie, but - ”

An angry roar drowned out the rest of his sentence and before he could gather his thoughts about him again, Fenrir had pressed him into the furs, one heavy hand resting on his ribcage and yellow eyes glaring furiously into his.

“To no one but me,” Fenrir growled, nudging Harry’s chin out of the way to get to his fragile throat, but then seemed to get a hold of himself and drew away again, relaxing his grasp on Harry and allowing the younger man to take a deep, gasping breath. “You mustn’t say something like that, little wolf,” he murmured apologetically, licking over Harry’s cheek and tasting a drop of salty wetness. “There’re different kinds of submitting and you will **never** submit to any of them like you’ll submit to me.”

“Merlin, you’re going to fuck me?” Harry asked unhappily. “While we’re in wolf form? In front of the others? Oh, hell no...”

“No, Harry.” Fenrir relaxed completely, grinning mockingly. “You have a very dirty mind, my naughty little human, but no, that is not the plan.”

“Then what the fuck is?! Would you just damn well spit it out instead of hinting and growling and losing your temper?” Harry demanded, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Have it your way, beautiful little thing.” Fenrir smirked. “You will submit to me, by which you’ll acknowledge my authority and concede me the right to do with you whatever I see fit. I’ll see fit to make you my mate, giving you the second-highest standing in my pack and an untouchable and unchallengeable position.”

“Oh,” Harry breathed out, wrapping his arms loosely around Fenrir’s neck. “Your mate? Is that like... That’s sounds serious.”

Fenrir laughed softly, dropping back onto the furs and pulling Harry onto his chest. “It kind of is. It’s the most serious commitment in werewolf packs, thus why you will be very high in the pack hierarchy.”

“Will things be different?” Harry asked hesitantly. “Because I kind of like how it works now.”

“Not much,” Fenrir shrugged. “They won’t change if you don’t change.”

“What about us? Will we be different?” Harry asked, resting his cheek over Fenrir’s heart.

“I’ve considered you my mate for a long time now, sweet little wolf.” Fenrir tenderly carded his fingers through Harry’s wild hair. “And I always knew that I was your Alpha.”

“Smug bastard,” Harry grumbled and Fenrir broke out into laughter.

“I have every reason to be.” Fenrir grinned. “After all, as my mate it is your duty to keep me happy and **satisfied** and I have the most delectable ideas what I’m going to do with you.”

Harry’s face lit up with a teasing smile. “And I’ll look forward to that, but I haven’t submitted to you yet and I’m afraid Michael will want to be fed soon, my big bad wolf, so the only idea that we’re going to follow through with right now is to get dressed.”

Fenrir groaned, thumping his head back and staring up at Harry beseechingly. “Michael’s still asleep and Goddess, you smell too good.”

Harry chuckled, leaning down for a quick kiss before sitting up and reaching for his discarded clothes. “You told me to take responsibility. Just following orders, my Alpha, just following orders.”

The werewolf growled testily, just earning him another chuckle and his jeans flying in his direction. “You vengeful little tease, I knew I was going to regret having said that.”

Harry’s laugh rang out loud and clear and his eyes sparkled with mirth and untold pleasures, with a promise that would have to wait to be fulfilled. He felt an irrational rush of anger at Harry’s clothes that dared to cover up that pale, perfect body – **his** perfect body – signalling the end of their one-on-one time where Harry had been his and his alone. He sighed heavily.

“You ready for tonight?” he asked, absently reaching his for his jeans even though all his senses were still focused on Harry. “You’re first full moon with Michael.”

Harry bit his lip, then shrugged. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, I guess. I put some blankets aside and have some bottles on a permanent warming charm. I wasn’t sure if those could be harmful but I asked Healer Lestrange and he said they’re fine to use. And I warded the area around the portal so if – What is it? Why are you looking at me like - ? Geez, it’s just a precaution, Fen, not as if I expect there to be any problems and the ward’s completely harmless, you just won’t be able to pass through in wolf form, but it won’t hurt you. As if I would take the risk with Michael...”

“It’s not about the ward,” Fenrir interrupted. “Come here, little wolf.”

“Nu uh, Fen, forget it, no more sex,” Harry protested, crossing his arms over his chest and remaining where he was.

“I don’t want to have sex!”

“Since when?” Harry challenged, still not budging.

“Since I’ve got something to tell you,” Fenrir answered with another sigh, holding his hand out to Harry, “which does not involve the wards. So would you please just sit down?”

“I won’t like whatever you’ve got to say, will I?” Harry demanded rhetorically, but sank back down on the furs, facing Fenrir and reaching for his hand for support.

“We won’t need the bottles,” Fenrir all but blurted out, grasping Harry’s hand more tightly than was comfortable for the younger man.

Harry furrowed his brow. “Michael will be hungry, Fen. I don’t think... You can’t feed him meat yet, can you?”

“No, but...” Fenrir ran a hand through his hair, frustrated when his fingers snagged on a knot. “Promise me you won’t be upset?”

“I can hardly promise you something like that,” Harry pointed out reasonably, though to Fenrir’s ears he also sounded a little rueful as if he dearly wished he could make such a promise. “I’m not that good at controlling my emotions. If there is something to be upset about, chances are that I’ll be upset.”

“Then promise that you won’t run away,” Fenrir left out the “again,” but he wasn’t foolish enough to believe that Harry hadn’t heard it anyway.

Harry huffed unhappily. “I’d like to think that I’ve moved past that, wolfie, and I’d really like to move past this sad version of foreplay. What did you want to tell me?”

Fenrir studied Harry carefully for a moment, trying to determine if Harry was really up to hearing this and simultaneously attempting to come up with a good reason why he shouldn’t tell him. “Michael won’t need the bottled milk,” he finally said, “because in wolf packs not only the parents feel responsible for their cub. Everyone takes care of the little one and it’s not unusual that female wolves other than the mother also lactate and help feed the cub.”

Harry stared intently at him, and he stared back, pleading with his eyes for Harry to understand and be happy about this, because wasn’t this better than somehow trying to get an overeager wolf cub to suckle on a plastic bottle? Then Harry’s eyes clouded over and he disentangled his hand from Fenrir’s and got up, away. Of course, Harry wouldn’t be happy, Fenrir had known that from the very beginning.

“Little one... I wanted to tell you before but it never seemed to be the right time,” Fenrir offered, earning himself a vicious glare.

“And you thought to tell me this now? Half an hour before moonrise?” Harry snapped, pacing in agitation. “Thanks a lot. Great timing, really.”

“I knew you’d be upset,” Fenrir said, keeping his eyes on Harry just to make sure that Harry wouldn’t run away. “I just didn’t want to add this to your plate. None of us thought this could happen, not even Maya. You know how much she always wanted children.”

“Michael is not her son,” Harry hissed dangerously. “And she didn’t have to go through a damn male pregnancy or through almost being kidnapped or through fucking giving birth!”

“No-one’s taking our cub away from you,” Fenrir tried to soothe him and was met with a stony silence. “And no-one’s discounting what you went through or how much you sacrificed for Michael...”

“I don’t want an award, Fenrir!” Harry snapped. “I just want life to be fair for once. Either that or I at least want to be able to feel upset and hurt and angry, but I can’t, can I? Because you didn’t plan this and Maya doesn’t do it out of spite and Michael will get his milk and...”

“... and you’re still his papa,” Fenrir concluded gently. “Being a parent has very little to do with giving him food or changing his nappies and everything with protecting him when he’s scared, rejoicing with him when he’s happy and showing him the way when he’s lost. You’ll do all that, my silly little wolf, let Maya have this one thing, once a month.”

Harry sighed, still clearly unhappy but no longer with that quiet despair surrounding him like an invisible force-field. “I just... I need time to wrap my head around this. I’m going to take a shower.”

“Harry...”

“I’ll see you in half an hour,” Harry muttered softly and slipped out of the hut; Fenrir felt like he had just kicked several puppies.

ö_ö_ö

“I’m fine,” Harry mumbled before Fenrir could pose the question for that very answer. “Can I hold Michael for a moment?”

“Of course,” Fenrir agreed readily, handing the carefully wrapped bundle of little werewolf over to the younger man. “Would you like to give him his bottle?”

“You don’t have to appease me, Fen,” Harry answered with a wry grin. “I’m not going to throw a temper tantrum or break into tears. I’m fine.”

“I fed him before moonrise last time as well,” Fenrir explained, reaching out to push a few strands of hair out of Harry’s face. “The transformation takes a lot of energy and we’d normally be feeding him around now anyway. So go ahead, Dobby already heated a bottle for him.”

“Thanks,” Harry whispered, accepting the bottle and smiling, a bit embarrassed, at the older man. “I appreciate what you told me earlier and despite everything, I’m really looking forward to tonight.”

“So am I, sweet little wolf,” Fenrir agreed, gently easing Harry between his legs and peering over his shoulder at Michael contently suckling his bottle. “You still sure about what we discussed? It’s okay if you changed your mind, I just need to know.”

“Nothing has changed,” Harry murmured, catching a drop of milk on his finger that had escaped Michael’s eager slurps. “You’re my Alpha.”

Fenrir grumbled in pleasure, rubbing his nose against Harry’s neck and inhaling his unique scent, feeling the soft thumping of Harry’s blood under the fragile skin. Harry’s small sigh and the almost imperceptible relaxation of tense muscles made him smile, even as he felt his own muscles start to tingle as a warning that the moon would soon rise

“Give Michael to me and get ready to change,” he ordered in a low voice, waiting until Harry had banished the empty milk bottle before he took their son from Harry’s arms and gently slipped him out of his playsuit and even his nappies.

Harry also got undressed, quickly because he was aware of the rest of the pack being gathered around them as they waited for the moon to rise. He self-consciously held his clothes in front of his privates, something that Fenrir found incredibly endearing, and when Maya approached with an encouraging smile and held out her hand to collect Harry’s clothes, the young man handed them over and then hurriedly turned away.

Harry’s shifting was smooth and effortless, pale skin giving way to soft white fur, the black markings around his eyes making their green depths glimmer even more brightly and a pinkish tongue lolling out between sharp teeth. Fenrir instinctively held out a hand, longing to run his fingers through the fine white hairs, and laughed softly when Harry put his front paws on his leg, licking a wet stripe over the left side of his face before carefully sniffing Michael. A questioning whimper escaped the small white canine, before he tenderly brushed his black nose over Michael’s cheek. Michael gurgled happily, one of his tiny hands reaching up and bumping against Harry’s yaw.

Harry’s muzzle spread in a wolfish smile, happily thumping his tail when Fenrir ruffled the fur behind his ear. Fenrir smoothed his large hand down Harry’s back, petting at first before he gradually increased the pressure to make Harry lay down at his feet. When Harry was situated, he carefully placed their son against Harry’s belly, tugging the blue baby blanket open so that it wouldn’t hinder their cub when he transformed.

By now, Fenrir could feel his blood rush faster through his veins, his senses expanding, his skin prickling as the first rays of moonlight caressed his form. Michael was moving restlessly against Harry and from the last time Fenrir knew that the small cub would be the first to change. Even though, he had a moment of gratefulness when Sirius also shifted into his canine form, joining Harry and acting as a shield between his son and any overzealous werewolves, before his own transformation swept him up in a sea of sensations that commanded his undivided attention even if he wanted to keep watch over his son. But Harry was keeping both eyes firmly on Michael for now, he trusted that.

Harry was gently licking their son’s belly, purring and whimpering soothingly, nudging the blanket away from Michael when it twisted around his ankle. There was a gurgle that sounded more like a whimper and Harry made a sound of distress, licking more frantically over Michael’s nude body until he could taste fur on his tongue and still soft claws scratched against his chest. Harry hadn’t realised that he had closed his eyes, but when he opened them again he was looking right into the warm yellow eyes of a happy wolf cub.

Before he had time to really come to grips with this, Michael shot up, bouncing against Harry’s legs, not in the least the deterred when the force of the impact made him fall back on his behind. Harry whimpered worriedly, gently nudging Michael back to his feet and licking over his muzzle. The young wolf purred in pleasure, once again bumping against Harry as he tried to get closer, taking in Harry’s scent and looking at him with wide, trusting eyes.

Harry felt something swell in his chest before Fenrir’s summoning howl interrupted the moment and pulled him out of his own little world where only he and his son existed. Michael yipped excitedly, his small paws thrumming on the grassy ground as he raced over to Fenrir, careening right into the much larger Alpha werewolf. Fenrir acknowledged that with an indulgent wolf smile, running his tongue over his son’s head, and rumbling good-naturedly when Michael jumped up, trying to snatch for his ear.

Harry approached at a more sedate pace, taking the time to study his son in this form. Michael’s fur was black as the darkest night, but more plushy than Fenrir’s sleek silver coat and his ears looked unproportionally small on his rounded head, his paws too big for his short legs. Harry had a hard time reconciling this little whirlwind of fur, energy and happiness with the hopefully happy, but mostly sleepy version of his son. It wasn’t that he hadn’t believed the others when they had told him that Michael was more advanced in this form and, intellectually at least, he had understood Remus’ explanations that wolf cubs developed differently than human babies, that Michael’s werewolf form had had months more to develop in his belly than a normal wolf baby would have had. But hearing about it and seeing it with his own eyes were two completely different things.

There was a sharp pang in the vicinity of his heart because somehow he had missed a part of his son’s growing up and it felt strangely like betrayal, like... – but he wouldn’t go down that road again. Not again. And he couldn’t really think of the pregnancy in those terms, but if he closed his eyes for just a second or two and pretended that it didn’t weird him out as much as it did, he could almost be a little smug because he’d known Michael before Maya or Fenrir, had shared experiences with his little boy that they never could, never would. He wasn’t wolf enough to truly embrace this possessive streak or the urge to protect and shelter and hide away, but he was dad enough that he could enjoy the first full moon with his son even while worrying and fretting over all the things that had or could go wrong.

He trotted up to Fenrir, bumping his shoulder against the Alpha’s leg and then turned back to observing his son, who was bounding between the other pack members, snatching for tails and ears, pawing their strong legs and purring happily whenever one of them leaned down to give him an affectionate lick. Fenrir was looking at him now, with fondness and pride and understanding, and Harry tilted his head up to lick over Fenrir’s cheek to show that he was okay.

The others gathered around them, Michael still safely in the middle though his attention had now been captured by a cricket that was balancing easily on a blade of grass. Its chirping seemed to fascinate the little werewolf, who had pressed his belly into the ground and was inching closer and closer to the insect, his nose twitching in an effort to categorise this new scent. Something startled the cricket and it hopped onto a dandelion leaf a bit further away. Michael whined in confusion, but then spied his next prey, his eyes fixing on Chetan, who, Harry was sure, was swishing his tail on purpose.

He watched the two werewolves play for a moment longer, making sure that Chetan wasn’t too rough with his son and that their tussling didn’t get out of hand. But then he turned to Fenrir, meeting his eyes in silent agreement, yipped softly and then dropped to the ground.

A happy howl rumbled up in Fenrir’s broad chest and he gently caressed Harry’s cheek with his nose before stepping over the wolf Animagus and pushing him carefully onto his back, exposing his soft belly and his fragile throat. Fenrir stared into Harry’s black-rimmed eyes, inexplicably glad that Harry wasn’t avoiding his gaze even though it would have been the proper thing to do when one was submitting to a pack’s Alpha. But this was still **Harry** , and he didn’t want to change that. So he closed his teeth delicately over the white wolf’s throat, a barely there nip, took a deep sniff of Harry’s scent and let himself drop, burying the smaller canine under his body. Harry half-whined, half-purred, twisting under him to get more comfortable, but then relaxed and submitted to Fenrir’s licking exploration and claiming of his body.

Then there was suddenly a small weight On Fenrir’s back and he could feel Michael gnawing on his ear, growling belligerently and shaking his head as if intended to pull the ear off. Fenrir got up carefully, aware of the little wolf hanging from his back and then gingerly shook himself, making Michael tumble down next to Harry. Michael wasn’t disturbed in the least, barking happily as he tackled Harry, worming his way between Harry’s legs and snuffling his little nose in Harry’s fur.

And Michael seemed to find that place exceedingly comfortable because instead of squirming and snatching and bouncing, he settled down and whimpered happily when Harry curled up around him, protective and loving and with paternal instinct written in every line of his body. When Michael’s breathing evened out to sleepy puffs and his eyes drifted close in slumber, Harry seemed to relax as well, and Fenrir knew that though the rest of the night probably wouldn’t go without a bit of hurt for Harry, this here, this very moment, was perfection.


	55. Epilogue: In Bocca Al Lupo

**About Eleven Years Later**

Harry could feel the tension thrumming through Fenrir’s large body and he pressed back a little into the tall werewolf while he surveyed the horde of children running and laughing and talking excitedly to each other, loading heavy trunks into the waiting train, hugging their family good-bye and greeting their friends.

“He’ll be fine, you know?” he whispered, his eyes fastening on a black-haired young boy, tall for his age, tan skin, golden eyes, sharp teeth flashing when he grinned at the girl next to him. Michael.

Fenrir grunted unhappily, but didn’t say anything because they both knew he had already exhausted all his arguments against this.

“We’ll see him in two weeks at the latest,” Harry offered conciliatorily, grabbing Fenrir’s hand and pulling it to his chest. “Now, try to smile or our son will think you’re mad at him.”

Fenrir sighed, his breath tickling teasingly against Harry’s neck. “I don’t like this, Harry, I can’t protect him when he’s away for school.”

“I can,” Harry said softly, tilting his head up to look Fenrir in the eyes. “The wards I have around Michael are unbreakable and they will alert me at the first sign of trouble. There’s absolutely no one on this planet that can get past my protection spells and harm Michael.”

“You told me this before,” Fenrir grumbled, and it almost sounded accusing.

Harry laughed. “Obviously you didn’t believe me, wolfie. Or were you... **distracted**?”

“You blackmailed me into this,” Fenrir growled. “You and Michael both.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, wolfie,” Harry replied with a bland smile and mirth in his eyes. “You realised how much going to Hogwarts meant to Michael and you were finally convinced by our arguments. That’s what happened.”

“What happened is that you and Michael collaborated to make sure I got absolutely no sex until I agreed to this,” Fenrir snapped, thinking back on weeks of sex deprivation and interrupted make-out sessions.

Not that Harry had been so overt about what he was doing. It had always started with Harry happily reciprocating his attention, sweet increasingly feverish kisses, slender hands roaming over his chest and unfastening their jeans. And then he had started talking, about how he could see where Fenrir was coming from but how important this was for Michael, how much he wished their son was allowed to go, if perhaps they should weigh the pros and cons once more? Or Michael would storm into the hut, pull a disgusted grimace and then start ranting about how unfair it was that he wasn’t allowed to go, and that Remus and Sirius had told him so many amazing stories about their time in Hogwarts and that he wanted to spend time with people his own age for once and that Sarah was going, so why wasn’t he allowed to go? And so on and so forth, until any and all thoughts of sex had evaporated from his mind.

Then there was the sulking. The silent treatment. The pouting. The pleading puppy-dog eyes, and damn if Michael hadn’t inherited that special ability from Harry. So it wasn’t his fault that he had finally given in, and it certainly hadn’t been his idea.

But Harry knew of his reservations, just as Fenrir knew that going to Hogwarts, claiming his wizarding ancestry was as important to Michael as it was to Harry. It wasn’t even like the day that damned owl had delivered the acceptance letter had come as a surprise to him, Harry had hinted and cajoled and tried to convince him for years. But still he had wanted nothing more than to burn that letter and pretend that Hogwarts was just another one of Sirius’ outrageous bedtime stories.

And it wasn’t the magic. Harry had magic - good, warm, friendly, playful magic – and so did Michael. He could accept that. He had accepted that. But that didn’t do away with his reservations concerning the wizarding world as a whole - deceitful, prejudiced, hectic, **unsafe** – and he didn’t want any of them to be drawn into that world any more than they already were.

“I know you’ll protect Michael,” he finally offered, gently cradling Harry’s face in his palms. “I’d just feel better if I was there protecting him, too.”

“Me too,” Harry admitted, soft sigh puffing against Fenrir’s chin. “But I think we have to allow our son to grow up so he can learn to protect himself. That’s what good parents do, right?”

Fenrir huffed, pushing himself harder against Harry’s body because he knew how important being a good father was to Harry and he had read the slight insecurity in Harry’s gaze, the plea to be reassured. “We’ve earned enough brownie points over the years, little one,” he grumbled, earning himself a smile. “And I’d be happy to take the blame.”

Harry laughed, snuggling for a moment into Fenrir’s broad chest before he pulled back. “Thanks, wolfie. But I think we’ll put your brownie points to better use. We’ll have the hut all to ourselves after all...”

He lifted onto his tip toes to press a chaste but promising kiss to Fenrir’s lips, twining his fingers through Fenrir’s hair and tugging lightly.

“Uh, do you have to do that? There’re children around, you know?” Michael chose that moment to interrupt, rolling his eyes good-naturedly.

Fenrir reached out to his son, drawing him to his chest with a curious mixture of werewolf roughness and fatherly gentleness, bumping his nose against Michael’s temple and taking a deep sniff of his hair. Harry was as always in awe at how Michael all but melted in Fenrir’s sure embrace, putting all that teenage rebellion and adolescent recalcitrance aside and soaking in all the love and protection that Fenrir so willing gave. A soothing growl rumbled up in Fenrir’s chest and Michael answered with a growl of his own, not quite as deep, almost a purr.

“You be good now, you hear, cub?” Fenrir demanded, smoothing his hand over the young werewolf’s back. “Don’t make your papa worry.”

“Promise,” Michael said earnestly, meeting Fenrir’s eyes. “Thanks for letting me go, dad.”

“Yeah, well, the two of you can be remarkably persuasive,” Fenrir grumbled, reluctantly releasing Michael from his hold.

“Michael, why don’t you and Fen take your trunk and Minnie on the train before all the compartments are occupied?” Harry spoke up before Fenrir could add something. “Please, wolfie.”

“Come on, cub,” Fenrir said, hoisting Michael’s large trunk up with ease and smiling as Harry surreptitiously wiped at his eyes. “Minnie doesn’t seem very happy, maybe she’ll settle down once she’s out of the hustle.”

“It’s the carrier,” Michael pointed out, picking the barking feline up. “She doesn’t like it. It’s for cats, and she knows that.”

“That must be pretty offensive to her,” Fenrir agreed lightly. “You better let her out during the train ride, then, or you won’t have a moment’s peace...”

Harry looked after them until they disappeared into the Hogwarts Express, Fenrir lecturing Michael about eating the lunch Maya had prepared for him on the train ride and not only sweets from the trolley lady, while Michael discreetly rolled his eyes, laughing when Fenrir affectionately ruffled his hair.

“Does it not unnerve you that he is so persistently happy?” Voldemort suddenly appeared at his side, also looking after Fenrir and their son.

“Personally, I like to take it as a compliment of our good parenting skills,” Harry answered. “Didn’t expect you to show up today.”

“It was on my way,” Tom replied nonchalantly. “And I was wondering when you could have a look at the wards around my castle.”

“You don’t trust me with your wards,” Harry pointed out wryly.

“That does not mean that I don’t value your opinion,” Tom answered easily. “I always enjoy sharing my paranoia with you.”

The corner of his mouth lifted when Harry chuckled. “It’s not paranoia if...”

“Indeed.” Tom nodded, and they stood next to each other in silence for a while. “Has seeing it for yourself changed your opinion?”

“Three first-years with possibly abusive backgrounds,” Harry said softly, closing his eyes briefly.

“Four, actually. All of them raised by Muggles,” Tom corrected, finally turning towards Harry. “Severus and Minerva will sit them down and discuss their options with them immediately after the sorting, like they have done with all the abused children that have come to Hogwarts in the last decade.”

“You can’t apprehend all Muggle children as soon as the exhibit the first signs of magic,” Harry stated, leading Tom over to one of the benches and sitting down. “I want to do more than damage control as well, but you can’t generalise that all Muggle parents are abusive or neglectful.”

“Statistics speak against them, though,” Tom insisted, stretching out his long legs and starting to swirl his wand between his fingers. “We could _obliviate_ all the parties concerned and place the children with adoptive parents, magical parents.”

“How would you have reacted if you found out that someone had erased your memories and created a new identity for you out of thin air?” Harry demanded, smiling slightly when he saw Fenrir and Michael heading towards Emily, Frank and their youngest daughter Sarah. “And you know as well as I do, that changing one’s memories does not change the past or do away with pain already suffered. Would you really have children feeling hurt, disappointed, angry and scared but not knowing **why**?”

“May I enquire what you suggest?” Tom asked politely.

“Hogwarts registers all the children as soon as they show the first signs of possessing magic, correct?” Harry asked. “That’s how the letters are issued.”

“So you intend for us to make our move then,” Tom concluded, looking pleased.

“Those families are left alone for too long after their world view has been tilted upside down,” Harry said softly. “Maybe we can stop some families from deteriorating and if not we can at least get the children out before things escalate.”

“There’s no equivalent of child services in the wizarding world,” the Dark Lord reminded Harry.

“About time that changed, don’t you think?” Harry demanded. “There’s already the mentorship programme for Muggleborn Hogwarts students. Just let it start earlier. Have regular check-ups on the families of Muggleborn children and send a pureblood wizard or witch to help both parents and children adjust to having magic in their lives.”

“You realise of course that there will still be some children who will need to be removed from their parents’ questionable care,” Tom cautioned, and Harry sighed.

“What are the options?”

“The four students we noticed today will be given the option of becoming wards of the school and will be allowed to stay at Hogwarts during the summer break. Meanwhile, Minerva and Severus will also be looking for suitable foster or adoptive families,” Tom explained, his eyes fixing on a small eleven-year-old girl with a bruise just peeking out under the sleeve of her wide sweater. “I don’t believe, however, that opening Hogwarts to younger children is advisable.”

“An orphanage then,” Harry suggested.

“While I do realise orphanages must hold a certain romantic connotation for you I can assure you that they are very dreary places,” Tom answered. “I set one on fire when I was seven.”

“Geez, Tom, don’t tell me stuff like that.” Harry got up almost hastily. “I’m about to send my son off to school; I don’t need to hear about how dangerous you were already as a kid.”

“My apologies. It was my understanding that you wanted me to be more open about myself,” Tom said immediately, also standing up.

“Yeah, favourite colour, food preferences, hell, your first crush,” Harry retorted. “But I prefer to remain blissfully ignorant of all your crimes.”

“My first romantic interest was the house mistress of that very institution. She called me the devil’s spawn, but I’m afraid I was too young to appreciate the compliment then, which led to me losing my temper,” Tom replied. “But I remembered her fondly in later years...”

“Okay, let’s change the subject,” Harry interrupted. “Or better yet, let’s end the conversation. I’ll see you in a few days, we can talk about everything else then... and yes, I’ll have a look at your wards as well.”

“Perfect, I’ll expect you Tuesday at 3 p.m. Enjoy your day, Harry,” Tom agreed before he turned and walked towards the portal with long strides and no backward glance.

Harry rolled his eyes, startling a little when strong arms wrapped around his waist from behind, pulling him against a hard chest. “I still don’t like it when you do that.”

“I don’t like it when you leave my sight,” Fenrir grumbled back, pressing a kiss to Harry’s neck. “Michael is all packed up and we also helped Sarah with her things, so I guess all that is left for us to do is say our goodbyes.”

“I don’t like that part,” Harry mumbled. “Fen...”

“I’m pretty sure no one does, sweet little wolf,” Fenrir replied. “Just keep breathing and smiling and being happy for Michael and once we’re home we can wallow in self pity and distract ourselves with sex.”

“That might work,” Harry whispered and reached for Fenrir’s hand. “Just don’t let go of me.”

“Never,” Fenrir replied, tightening his large hand around Harry’s smaller one before tugging him over to their son, who had turned away from Sarah and her family and was coming towards them.

In the matter of seconds, Michael had found his way into Harry’s waiting arms, allowing the slender man to pull him in and sighing softly when Harry tried unsuccessfully to flatten his hair. “I’ll miss you, papa. I really want to go, but I’ll miss you.”

Harry smiled a little sadly, cradling his baby boy to his chest and noticing not for the first time that Michael was quite a bit more careful with him than with Fenrir. Werewolf strength was something to be enjoyed in small amounts as they had all learned when Michael had tackled Harry in a hug when he was five and broken two of Harry’s ribs. It was a fond memory, in spite of the pain. Michael had been glued to his side for weeks afterwards and had played his nurse maid with all the enthusiasm of a five-year-old, bringing him soup, telling him stories and watching intently as Rudolphus healed him.

“Don’t, okay? Let us do all the missing and you go and have a wonderful time, make a ton of new friends and learn everything they have to teach you,” Harry said softly, pressing a kiss to Michael’s forehead and smiling at his son.

A whistle signalled that all Hogwarts students should board the train now, and Fenrir drew both Harry and Michael against his chest, taking a deep, deep breath of their mingled scent, holding the core of his pack close and feeling a lump build in his chest that was mirrored by a hitch in Harry’s breathing pattern.

“We’ll see you on the day before the full moon,” Fenrir reminded, releasing both of them before drawing Harry away from Michael and into his own arms. “But if you want to come back earlier - ”

“I know, dad,” Michael interrupted. “I’ll write you soon and I’ll - ”

“Michael, come on, you’re going to miss the train!” Sarah shouted, already on the train but holding the door open for her friend.

“Go,” Fenrir said in that voice that did not allow room for discussion or even hesitation, and Michael turned away and took a few fast steps towards Sarah, jumping onto the train and carefully bumping shoulders with the small blonde girl as he turned around to face his parents.

The second whistle was followed by steam billowing around the train, the sound of heavy wheels being set into motion as the train slowly pulled out of the station as parents and children alike waved and shouted farewells, threw kisses and last minute advice at each other.

Harry raised his hand tentatively, not feeling like he could muster up the necessary strength to wave at his parting son, and rested himself more firmly against Fenrir’s strong form. They remained like this until the train was not even a tiny pinpoint on the horizon anymore.

“The first time is always the hardest.” Emily sighed and Harry only then really noticed that she and Frank were standing next to them. “The house always seemed so silent and lonely after they were gone, but now that Sarah also fled the nest...”

“I half expected you to tell me how peaceful and relaxed it would be, now that the kids are out of the house,” Harry commented, trying not to think about how difficult it was to breathe right now.

“Oh, that too, but the first few day are a little hard,” Emily answered with a gentle smile at the young man. “Let me know if you want to be lonely together, okay? Maria told me about this little Italian restaurant that just opened in a side street of Diagon Alley; we could go and check it out next week?”

“I’d like that,” Harry agreed. “How about Thursday? That should give Fen and me enough time to get over the worst of missing Michael.”

“Great, I’ll send you an owl with the address,” Emily answered, intertwining hands with Frank, who had been engrossed in a conversation with Fenrir.

“Ready to go home, honey?” he asked, turning towards her.

She smiled and nodded and after a last round of goodbyes, Fenrir and Harry were alone on the now deserted platform.

“You okay, little wolf?” Fenrir asked softly, trailing a hand over Harry’s side.

“I don’t know,” Harry admitted. “I really wanted to be the cool, non-clingy father, who’s happy that his son is growing more and more independent with every day and that he won’t be needed for much longer, but...”

“Michael will always need us, we’re his parents,” Fenrir declared firmly. “And you know better by now than to assume that being independent does mean you can’t rely on someone or can’t still want them to take care of you.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Harry answered with a small, grateful smile and took a shuddery breath. “Still hard to see him go.”

Fenrir grumbled in agreement. A part of his pack was missing, there was no way to sugarcoat that fact. But Lin had left the pack for a while, too, travelling around Europe and spending time with Marrock’s pack. They had received postcards every now and then until one day she had shown up in person and declared that she was there to stay. She had fit herself back into the pack’s life as if she had never left and a couple of weeks later she had introduced them to Robert, a shy young man, who owned a bookstore in Muggle London and who was so obviously smitten with the tall brunette that Fenrir hadn’t been able to hold up his scepticism for long.

Michael would come back as well, maybe with a few more stories to tell and most likely a few inches taller, but still the same Michael. Still their son.

“Let’s go home, pretty little one,” Fenrir said instead of voicing his thoughts. “I know of a way or two to make us feel better about Michael not sleeping in the next room over anymore.”

“I like the way you’re thinking. I’m all yours.” Harry laughed a little, lifting onto his tip toes to brush Fenrir’s lips in a short kiss. “Portal or apparition?”

“Portal,” Fenrir answered immediately, feeling his blood pump a bit faster at Harry’s quick agreement, but then groaned. “What now, Travers?!”

“David?” Harry asked in surprise, peering around Fenrir’s broad form and spotting the grey-haired wizard. “Everything okay?”

“Yes, I just... Can I talk to you for a minute?” David asked before adding towards Fenrir. “It won’t take long.”

“Fine,” Fenrir grumbled. “Why would today be any different after all?”

“I’ll make it up to you,” Harry promised softly, caressing Fenrir’s stubbled cheek.

“You always say that,” Fenrir snapped, knowing that he was being unfair and a little childish, but not in the mood to care very much.

“And I always do,” Harry pointed out, leaning up for a tender kiss. “Look, wolfie, you can be grumpy about it and sulk or you can take the time to think about what exactly you want us to do once we’re home because I will fulfil all of your wishes. Your choice.”

“I can do both,” Fenrir grumbled with a small smirk, slapping Harry’s bottom as he passed him. “I’ll multitask.”

“You do that.” Harry laughed before gently bumping his shoulder against David, the wards around the older man reaching out to greet him and telling him that David didn’t feel threatened or afraid but only a little nervous and confused. “Let’s walk.”

“Sorry,” David murmured when they were a good distance away from Fenrir.

“Don’t worry about it.” Harry grinned. “The sex is always the best when Fenrir’s a little frustrated. He get’s creative. But I doubt you came here to talk about my love life...”

“I knew you’d be here,” David explained. “I was here earlier, thought I could say goodbye to Michael, but there were too many people around.”

“I’m sure Michael will understand,” Harry said softly. “But I know you too well to believe that you came here for Michael, either.”

David sighed, running a tense hand through his grey hair. “It was a foolish decision to make me his godfather.”

“I never regretted it,” Harry answered firmly.

“Not even when I attacked him after he pulled that prank?” David asked carefully, glancing briefly at the younger wizard.

“Nothing happened and Michael knew better than sneak up on you like that,” Harry replied. “Though, I did like his costume.”

“He looked more cute than scary,” David admitted with a self-deprecating half-smile. “Rather embarrassing to go into panic mode because of eight-year-old in a bear costume, isn’t it?”

Harry laughed lightly, but didn’t respond, knowing that David had needed time to gather his courage to say whatever he came here to say, but also knowing that Fenrir was not a man of patience.

“Draco gave me this,” David finally said, reaching into the pocket of his robe and retrieving a little square velvet box.

Harry carefully took the small box and opened it. “He proposed?” he asked, a little surprised and mostly happy. “What did you say? Please tell me that you didn’t say you had to talk with me about it.”

“Not exactly,” David murmured, grimacing. “He didn’t propose. He gave me this ring, a Malfoy family heirloom, so that **I** could propose.”

Harry furrowed his brow in confusion. “Huh? That’s taking this following-your-lead-thing a little too seriously, isn’t it?

“Quite the opposite,” David answered with a small sigh and took the box back, slipping it into his pocket. “Draco is from a more prestigious family than I am and he covers most of our expenses, so if he were to propose to me and I were to accept, he would automatically be considered the dominant partner – the one who’s allowed to make all the decisions concerning our living arrangements, our professional occupations, our married life, including the question of children.”

“His parents still want him to procure an heir, don’t they?” Harry asked, sighing as well when David nodded. “And they want you to marry?”

“Yes. Lucius and Narcissa have accepted that Draco wants me in his life, but they aren’t going to accept that he remains childless,” David explained. “They’re very much in favour of Draco or I bearing our children. I can’t expect Draco to stand up against his parents, again.”

“But if you propose to Draco you can claim the dominant role and Draco’s parents will have to go through you,” Harry concluded. “It’s not a bad plan.”

“Draco wants children,” David pressed out. “I don’t. Even if I liked children I still couldn’t risk having a defenceless, dependent little human being around me. Draco sacrificed so much already, I don’t want him to give up even more.”

“First of all, I don’t think Draco considers anything that he has done for you a sacrifice and he wouldn’t have given you the ring if he didn’t want you to propose,” Harry stated calmly. “And secondly, if you ever decide that you do want children, I’d be more than happy to help with keeping them safe.”

“Like you have been keeping Draco safe?” David asked softly, and his voice sounded pained. “I’m not good for him, Patronus. I’m not good for anyone.”

“I disagree,” a new voice interrupted them and Draco stepped around one of the tall boards that doted the platform and offered railway schedules, advertisements and instructions about how to behave in the Muggle world. “Thanks, Harry. I’ll take it from here.”

“No problem. Let me know when congratulations are due.” Harry smiled encouragingly at David and briefly rested a hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. “I’ll see you tomorrow, after Draco had time to set you straight, okay?”

David returned his smile more hesitantly, but took Draco’s hand when it was offered to him, letting himself be drawn against the tall blond. As always, Harry marvelled a little at how far David had come, that even though the older man still didn’t like touch as a general rule he seemed to find comfort in Draco’s careful and always tender hold and even sought it out more and more often. And Draco had made considerable progress as well, no longer relying solely on Harry to help David, but greedily latching onto every bit of trust David was willing to give him and proving himself worthy of it time and time again. Harry still was David’s safety net, but Draco had grown with the responsibility of being David’s partner, and frankly, Harry was impressed with both of them.

“I came up with some ideas,” Fenrir greeted him, quickly grasped Harry by the hand and pulled him through the gateway back to the Muggle world, as if afraid that someone else would pop up and lay claim to Harry’s time. “We’ll start with your sweet little butt naked and at my disposal.”

“That sure sounds like it could be fun.” Harry hummed appreciatively, laughing happily when a possessive growl rumbled up in Fenrir’s chest. “Lead the way, my Alpha.”

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's done then. I hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. And thank you for all your kudos and comments.
> 
> Also, for those of you who don't speak Italian, the chapter title means "good luck", but it literally translates to "in the mouth of the wolf". I thought about calling this story that, but as you must have noticed, I decided against it :)


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